


Rainfall

by bustoparadise



Series: The Saga of RainClan [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: American setting, Multi, queer kitties, sims 3 warrior cats challenge, so it's like the books but with weird sims 3 plants, so many warrior cat ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 30,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bustoparadise/pseuds/bustoparadise
Summary: Two ex-Clan she-cats. No home. No Clan. No prophecies. Only their courage to light their way.





	1. MeadowClan is No More

MeadowClan was finished. Every day Mistwalk woke up, she had a beautiful moment of forgetting that.

She expected to see rolling hills covered in green grass, bluestem, yarrow and primrose, to hear the song of bobolinks, meadowlarks and swallows.

Instead, today a bramble patch blocked most of her view of the surrounding spruce and aspen. The air smelled of spruce needles and water from the pond across the Thunderpath. Monsters didn’t seem to travel this Thunderpath often–not with the nearby Greenleaf Twolegplace to attract Twoleg attention–but not even half a day’s walk away was a massive Twolegplace. Who knew where those creatures would move and why?

This was no place for wild cats. But the fields of MeadowClan weren’t home after what she and Featherfall had done. Mistwalk glanced at her sleeping friend; warmth spread through her belly at the sight of the lithe white she-cat with large orange patches curled near her. She almost purred. At least she had a friend.

The foaming madness had taken the mind of MeadowClan’s leader. No matter how many times Whisperstar had come back, she came back wrong, lunging at her Clanmates with jaws bared. Perhaps MeadowClan’s real medicine cat, Seedshine, could have cured her, but he’d died in the greencough outbreak that had taken their elders and kits that leaf-bare. Mistwalk had been a poor replacement.

They’d had to kill Whisperstar. Mistwalk told herself that every day. They’d been the ones in position. Running to MountainClan or ForestClan for help would have left Whisperstar roaming free to infect others. It had been their duty as the last cats of MeadowClan.

ForestClan and MountainClan had turned from uneasy allies to dear friends that day. Their medicine cats had led Mistwalk and Featherfall to the stream to wash the blood off then examined them for bite-marks. They’d dosed the MeadowClan cats with red valerian to help them sleep. They’d even given them travelling herbs when Featherfall had blurted out, “We can’t stay here. We have to go…somewhere.”

Mistwalk had wracked her brain for some sign from StarClan that they should stay, but the only dreams she’d had lately were nightmares: Bodies of MeadowClan’s dead kits, pouncing and tumbling even as their fur and flesh rotted. Fireweedclaw turning on his sister, Larkflight, foaming at the mouth, ripping her into pieces smaller than mouse droppings. Mistwalk running from her Clanmates, all yowling and slobbering, mindless with rage.

Featherfall, good Clan cat that she was, had rarely left MeadowClan territory; Mistwalk was the explorer, so Mistwalk led her from their home. They’d walked for eight days, following the river, until they stopped in this small patch of wilderness.

A cardinal sang in a branch above. Closing her eyes, Mistwalk inhaled deeply. Trees, water, prey. Time to look at what they’d been given, not what had been taken away.

Featherfall began twitching in her sleep; soon, she was growling softly. _Not that the past will be so easily wiped away. Lavender would help us sleep…. I could’ve sworn I smelled some yesterday. And I should search for some chamomile…._

Mistwalk only realized her thinking had become muttering when Featherfall slitted her eye open. Her skin prickled with embarrassment. “Oh! Sorry to wake you. StarClan knows, you needed the sleep.”

“It wasn’t a pleasant dream.” This dryly murmured sentence was the first Featherfall had spoken about more than the necessities of survival in eight days.

They shimmied out of the bramble patch–Mistwalk leaving some of her long, white pelt behind–and looked around as they stretched. Only Featherfall’s gaze lingering on the Thunderpath betrayed her nervousness.

“Let’s take a look around,” Mistwalk suggested. She always thought better when she was on the move.

 


	2. Beyond the Aspen Grove

“Is that–oh, no, just a water beetle.”

Mistwalk tried to peer past the weeds and scum floating on the surface of the pond. 

“At least a beetle means something’s alive in there,” she muttered. After a moment, she realized, “It’s probably a good thing fish and beetles don’t have ears. Quiet, Mistwalk. Hunting means quiet.”

Turning from the pond, Mistwalk was startled to see Featherfall sitting a tail-length away, grooming her forepaw. _Well, she wasn’t named Featherfall because she’s noisy, was she?_

Giving her chest fur a few licks, Mistwalk said, “We’ll figure it out. How hard can fishing be? Even ForestClan cats can fish.”

That casual insult would have been fine in MeadowClan a moon ago; now, it was awful. Crowstar, ForestClan’s leader, had offered to take Featherfall in after MeadowClan’s dissolution; Martenlight, their medicine cat, had soothed Mistwalk after she awoke yowling from another nightmare.

Mistwalk gasped, her ears drooping. How could she forget that her life had changed forever? Why couldn’t she ever remember anything important?

Featherfall looked away from her, tail-tip twitching, then rose to her paws.

“That wasn’t–- I didn’t mean-– I can’t believe I just-–”

“Raccoons like to hunt here. We need to be wary.” Featherfall didn’t look her way as she brushed through the tall grasses.

Beside the swamp was a Twolegplace overrun with weeds. Four brightly-coloured, large Twoleg structures rested in a square of sand bordered by cracked stones.

Mistwalk put her paw on one of the rungs of the blue and yellow structure, gazing up at it. “Do you think…did Twolegs climb up one end and slide down the other?”

Featherfall tested the air. “Whatever they did, they’re not doing it now.”

“If they wanted to slide down something, they have perfectly good hills nearby. They could just wait for rain and slide down the grass. Like otters sliding into the river! Maybe they don’t want to wait until after it rains, though?”

Her friend just grunted noncommittally. She’d never been particularly interested in mysteries. Mistwalk let this one go.

Old monsters rested in an overgrown, fenced-in yard. Neither of the cats smelled any Twolegs, and the yard was overgrown with weeds, bracken and yellow flowers at least three fox-lengths high. Mistwalk pulled a leaf off one and sniffed it. It reminded her of goldenrod leaves.

“Good for cuts,” she murmured. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a leaf to store herbs in?

“And snakes seem to love these monsters,” Featherfall murmured, sniffing the patchy grass near one of the monsters.

Mistwalk definitely cursed herself for not bringing a carrying leaf when she saw the fenced-in meadow near the monsteryard. A Twoleg must have lived here, and though the structure of their nest was gone, their garden remained.

“Featherfall! These plants!” The dashed from green shoot to flowering stem. “Look at all of them! Buzzberry and wonderpetal and–- and-– I don’t even know what some of these are! I’ll have to learn what they’re good for.” She examined each plant, trying to determine when to harvest them, while Featherfall waited patiently.

Only when Mistwalk and Featherfall were walking away from the field did she realize neither of them had thanked StarClan for this bounty. _Perhaps Featherfall did so in her mind._

__

They stopped for water by a brook that passed through a weedy field through a copse of pine trees. “Like a patch of MeadowClan and ForestClan territories side by side,” Mistwalk commented.

The skitter of heavy beetles among the pine needles made her think of rainbow beetles, the calls of squirrels in the pine trees made her mouth water, and the scent of raccoons made her fur rise.

The wind brought them the fresh scent of cat and dog from a large Twoleg nest by the river. Mistwalk and Featherfall opened their mouths to taste the air. At least five different cat scents, one dog and, most importantly, kittypet food.

Mistwalk’s stomach rumbled. “Oh!” she murmured, starting down the road to the Twoleg nest.

“Wait.” Featherfall glanced at their dust-stained coats and dirty paws. “We don’t know what they’re like. We need to go in looking strong.”

The three clans of the foothills were far from Twolegplaces or nests; the last rogue to pass through had been when Mistwalk’s great-great-grandmother was a kit. Who knew what cats raised outside the Clans were like? _She’s so perceptive. I would’ve run right in!_

As they continued along the Thunderpath, one of the cats, a black and white long-hair, watched them go. The cat didn’t look threatening, but then, who would bother with cats that were obviously passing by instead of approaching?


	3. The Medicine Cat Code

They returned to the aspen grove. The sun had barely moved in the sky, but Mistwalk was already exhausted, and Featherfall looked the same as she felt. 

Mistwalk brought her muzzle forward to share tongues; Featherfall shot her a grateful look and Mistwalk began grooming the fur along Featherfall’s neck. Though she felt a pang of guilt, seasons of ignoring such pangs made it pass quickly. Sharing tongues was a friendly gesture, that was all.

When Featherfall began licking along her side, Mistwalk wanted to purr forever. To distract herself, she started talking. “I need a leaf. You’ll remind me if I forget, won’t you? We need chamomile and lavender, and I want to grab the leaves of those yellow flowers from the monsteryard. Your pads aren’t cracked, are they? I didn’t see you limping, but I know you warriors and your pride….”

“I’m fine.”

For a time, they shared tongues in silence, Mistwalk enjoying their closeness so much she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Every now and then, a monster would appear along the Thunderpath--which made Featherfall tense up--but they always turned toward the Greenleaf Twolegplace. Soon, Twoleg kits were yowling and splashing noisily.

“I believe we’re near the half-moon…?” Featherfall asked. An ear twitching backward in annoyance, she grumbled, “I can’t seem to remember.”

“That happens sometimes when a cat’s been under stress,” Mistwalk said. “Don’t worry about it, Featherfall.

“But, to answer your question, yes. The half-moon’s tonight.” Her thoughts turned to the Lightning Tree in the burnt section of the forest and the camaraderie of other medicine cats. While the tree’s blackened branches cradled the moon, the medicine cats would receive the wisdom of their ancestors.

“Perhaps,” Featherfall pointed with her muzzle south of the aspen grove, “beyond those hills there’s a place for you to share tongues with StarClan.”

Startled, Mistwalk pulled back. “What?”

Featherfall’s ears lowered. “You…you don’t want to find a sacred place?”

It seems they’d had very different ideas about what leaving MeadowClan territory meant. Mistwalk had thought they were rogues, but Featherfall clearly thought they were Clan cats still.

Stomach aching at the depth of their misunderstanding, Mistwalk almost blurted out the truth: that clearly she’d failed her ancestors by being unable to cure the greencough and then the foaming madness, that she couldn’t bear to have Whisperstar and Seedshine and her mother confirm it, that she wasn’t worthy of StarClan.

But Featherfall needed her medicine cat, so that’s what Mistwalk would be.

“Why, of course I want to find a sacred place! I only thought…well, it’ll be a bit of a walk to find someplace untouched by Twolegs. We’ve only just got here. Perhaps next moon would do just as well. I’m sure our ancestors can’t begrudge us some time to get settled in.”

Featherfall held her gaze for a moment, then her ears rose and she inhaled deeply. The tension left her thin frame. “Of course,” she murmured. “My apologies, Mistwalk. I should have let you explain.” She looked away. “I’m taking everything wrong today.”

An idea struck and spilled out of Mistwalk before she could stop herself. “I asked Martenlight and Twilightstream to apologize to Whis-–to everyone for what we had to do when they shared tongues with StarClan. They’re good medicine cats. I’m sure they’ll pass the message along.”

“They can see our ancestors?”

“StarClan has no Clan boundaries. I’m sure they’ll show up.”

Featherfall nodded, looking uncertain. Then she leaned in and pressed her forehead against Mistwalk’s, brushing Mistwalk’s nose as she did so.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Mistwalk nearly burst out of her skin with joy.

 _Anything for you, my love._ “Anytime, my friend.”


	4. Sickness

Three consecutive sneezes ruined Featherfall’s hunting crouch. The shrew she’d been stalking darted away.

She was too sick to hunt, but she didn’t have a choice. Over the last three days, she and Mistwalk hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful. This morning, Mistwalk had been too weary to insist Featherfall rest and keep her strength up. They needed food.

Sniffling, Featherfall sat, curling her tail around her paws. Around her, monsters slept, their gleaming pelts radiating heat in the greenleaf sun. What if one woke and roared to life? Could she even escape it?

The heartbeat her concentration faltered, she was back in MeadowClan. This time, she saw Fireweedclaw limping after the fight with the badger. “It’s just a bite,” he’d said. They’d noticed the badger drooling, but no one had thought anything of it.

What crimes had MeadowClan committed to warrant this kind of punishment? Or, if it wasn’t punishment, why hadn’t StarClan tried to save them?

_ Unless StarClan tried, but Mistwalk missed the signs. _ A cruel thought, but Featherfall kept thinking it. Over the last three days, Featherfall had tried to talk to Mistwalk about StarClan’s path for MeadowClan. Mistwalk had replied in her usual, rambling way, and Featherfall only realized later that she’d evaded the question. A medicine cat should be the first one to talk about StarClan. Since Mistwalk didn’t, she must have something to hide.

At the sound of scales over pebbles, Featherfall jolted back to the present. She sneezed a few more times, but the snake ignored her. A seedling of hope sprouted in Featherfall’s chest.  _ The snakes here must not be used to being hunted by cats. _

_ _

Soon, Featherfall was running down the side of the Thunderpath to the aspen grove, the dead snake streaming from her jaws. The sun had moved two tail-widths since she’d started hunting-–the past kept sweeping her away, making her lose track of time.

She dropped the snake in the fresh-kill pile, wavering on her paws. She ignored Mistwalk’s happy babbling to crawl into the bramble patch den and drop into an uneasy sleep.

The sun was on its downward path when she awoke. The snake was gone from the fresh-kill pile.

_ _

“Mistwalk?”

Mistwalk looked up from grooming herself. “Ah…yes?”

Coughing, Featherfall pointed with her muzzle to the empty fresh-kill pile.

“Oh! That. Yes. Um.” Mistwalk shifted her weight, ears lowering. “I went off to search for more herbs for your cough and…a raccoon got it.”

Featherfall sniffed, but she was too sick to smell anything.

Mistwalk kept talking, eyes wide and expression stricken, but all Featherfall could hear was “Whisperstar sacrificed two lives to keep us safe. What if she bites a patrol from another Clan? It has to be--we have to–- We’re MeadowClan. It’s our duty, isn’t it?”

Featherfall had been a good Clan cat until the moment she’d listened to that traitor.

The fur on Featherfall’s neck rose. Every muscle tensed. And still Mistwalk kept up her high-pitched, vacuous whining. 

Yowling, Featherfall leaped at Mistwalk, who gasped and stepped back--but not far enough.

“You useless, pathetic mouse-brain!” She battered Mistwalk’s muzzle with her forepaw, claws out. “You’re killing us!” She lashed out with her other paw, raking her claws through Mistwalk’s thick, white fur. “MeadowClan died because of you and now you want to finish the job!” 

Only sudden bout of coughing made her stop, giving Mistwalk time to back away. She was shivering, her pupils consuming the silver of her eyes. The same look she’d had when Fireweedpaw attacked Larkflight.

_ _

_ What’s wrong with me?  _ As suddenly as it came, Featherfall’s rage vanished, leaving nausea behind. Now, she’d not only murdered her leader but attacked a Clanmate.

Featherfall was a warrior of MeadowClan. Except she wasn’t, not anymore, not with Mistwalk staring at her with wide pupils and a tucked tail. Featherfall must be a rogue, violent and lawless.

She turned and ran from the aspen grove.

 


	5. The Barn Cats

Featherfall’s paws led her to the Twoleg nest by the river. She wanted to run past, to be completely alone, but just the memory of the smell of kittypet food made her slow and turn up the dirt Thunderpath.

The black and white tom was hunting in the grass along the Thunderpath. He left his hunting crouch when she approached. She raised her tail in greeting and, after a moment, he raised his.

As she approached, he said, “Good day, wanderer.” He gave her a quick sniff. The tom’s eyes, one green and one yellow, flicked from the snot dripping down her nose to her ill-kept coat. “You’re welcome to some food. The Uprights have just put some out.”

 _A warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet._ “Thank you,” she murmured.

The tom introduced himself as Two Tone, but once she gave her name he prompted no more conversation as he led her to the larger of the two Twoleg nests.

They passed two dogs playing by what seemed to be the Twolegs’ main den, where their monsters rested. Then one of the dogs meowed and Featherfall realized she’d been mistaken. If only her nose worked. The dog looked at Featherfall with pricked ears and wagging tail, but a meow from the canine-looking cat made them return to their play.

The bigger of the Twoleg nests was fenced in. Some cats were moving about, but Featherfall couldn’t focus on anything other than the bowls of kittypet food set in the yard. She rushed to the nearest one and started eating, only stopping to sneeze or cough. After a few mouthfuls, she slowed down enough to taste. Mixed in with hard, meat-tasting pellets were huge chunks of cold meat dripping with fat and salty fluid. One bite thrilled her to her paws.

Nearby, an amused tom said, “Well, good day to you, too, stranger.”

A reproving “Hush,” sounded in a low she-cat’s voice. “There’s also water, dear.”

Featherfall took advantage of that, too. Looking up, she saw the two speakers: a lithe brown tabby tom with a pointed muzzle and bizarrely small and round ears and an older brown she-cat with legs so short and fur so long her belly fur reached the ground.

“Thank you,” Featherfall murmured.

“I’m Sweeps Up and this is Mouse Face,” the she-cat said. “Will your friend be joining us?”

Featherfall flinched, then hated herself for hinting at her turmoil. She managed a neutral, “Perhaps.”

“Everyone’s welcome at the barn if you’re sensible,” Sweeps Up said. “Argue with words before claws, don’t make dirt near the food bowls, that sort of thing.”

“You’re especially welcome if you have a tale to tell,” Mouse Face added. “I’m going to say you’ve—oh, let’s see…fought a dog. You seem like the type!”

“No.”

“You have the frame of a fighter of something, at least. Ooo, horses?”

Her warrior pride stirred before she remembered how she’d used her fighting skills earlier today. She saw Mistwalk’s terrified face, heard her panting. Featherfall had struck her so easily. She’d barely had to think about it.

Two Tone was talking to her. When she asked him to repeat himself, he asked, “Are you denning south of here?”

“We’ve explored there.” She at least had the sense not to expose their den site.

Sweeps Up spoke, ears twitching back. “I’d be wary of any scent of strange males. That was the territory of three grey toms. Four seasons ago, the greys left their den by the pond, and we all breathed a little easier. They were cruel cats. In the barn, our numbers kept us safe, but Uprights help you if they caught you alone.

“They might be gone for good, of course. Who can say? It’s in the Uprights’ paws.”

They talked about Twolegs the way Clan cats talked about StarClan. Featherfall wondered at that, but didn’t have the strength to ask. She wanted to be patrolling MeadowClan’s borders, testing the air. She wanted to be sharing tongues with Mistwalk, never imagining she could hurt her.

“Could I have a leaf? I’d like to carry some food back to Mistwalk.”

As Two Tone went to find one, Mouse Face caught her attention with a flick of his tail. “I meant what I said about a good story. There’s just only so many times one can feign interest in that time Two Tone stole an entire roast bird from an Upright’s nest!”

_Better boredom than what’s in my head, tom._

“Ah,” Mouse Face mrrowed, “the ‘stare right through you’ routine. How novel.”

Featherfall blinked. How long had she been staring?

Sweeps Up pressed her tail against Mouse Face’s muzzle. “If you were half as charming as you think you are, you’d be gentler to guests.”

“But I’m both charming and funny. The two don’t always go well together.”

When Two Tone returned, Sweeps Up packed the leaf with food to avoid Featherfall spreading her sickness. Featherfall left to goodbyes and exhortations to return, but they slipped from her mind as the aspen trees grew closer.


	6. Aches and Apologies

Featherfall guarded the fresh-kill pile all evening while Mistwalk slept in the bramble patch. It gave her time to think.

Dawn was breaking when Mistwalk yawned and stretched. Featherfall inhaled as deeply as she could without coughing, bracing herself for the confrontation ahead.

She’d predicted a few reactions when Mistwalk woke up and saw her. None of those predictions were Mistwalk looking delighted and rushing out of the bramble patch to meet her, purring so hard she could barely speak.

“You came back! I’m so glad! I can’t apologize enough for being so mouse-brained. I was acting like we have a Clan, like I can just be my stupid self and wander wherever I feel like, whenever I feel like. I tried to make it up for you! Er, I didn’t do well, but I tried. I caught some mice—they’re in the bramble patch, so a raccoon would have to go through me to get them! Here, let me fetch one for you....”

“Mistwalk....”

“Hush, you don’t have to say another word. I—” Noticing the kittypet food, she blinked a few times. “Is that for me?” At Featherfall’s nod, she gingerly unwrapped the leaf. “It smells so good! Thank you!”

While she gulped the food down, Featherfall took the opportunity to talk. “I should never have struck you. I’m so sorry. Ever since the foaming madness hit MeadowClan, it’s like I’ve been another cat entirely.”

Every word she spoke burned her throat. “Of course MeadowClan didn’t die because of you. I should never have said that.”

“Oh, Featherfall, my dear....” Mistwalk voice was soft and kind, but her pupils were widening. “I never thought you meant it. And you didn’t even scratch me—you just got my fur! Cats make bad choices sometimes. It happens! It’s all forgiven. Don’t you worry.”

This part was going to be harder than Featherfall had anticipated. “I need to be on my own for a while.”

Mistwalk hunched over, eyes widening. “On your own? But—but don’t be silly!” Her voice got louder. “I know you won’t hurt me again!”

“I don’t.”

Ears lowering, Mistwalk said, “That’s—that’s—dear one, that’s nothing we can’t work through together.” The intensity of her stare made Featherfall want to look away.

“The cats at the Twoleg nest—they call it a barn—seem friendly. They’d be good company.”

“Dark Forest take their company!” she spat. 

Mistwalk never hissed. Featherfall’s resolve wavered, but the memory of her friend cringing before her made her say, “I _need_ this, Mistwalk.”

“What does running away from me solve?” Her ears raised, though they quivered with suppressed energy.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you again.” She stopped to cough before continuing. “The thoughts I’ve been thinking lately...they’re insane, but I can’t stop myself from thinking them. Maybe they’ll drown out who I was.”

“All the more reason—”

“I can’t sort them out while worrying that I’ll claw your face off.” Softening, she said, “I want to get better and come back to you. We’re all we have left.”

As she sniffled and started coughing again, Mistwalk said, “Could we talk about this again once that sickness is under control? I’m your medicine cat. If you want to leave, it’s my duty to make you as healthy as I can before you go.”

When Featherfall’s uncle, Seedshine, had died of greencough, Mistwalk had curled against her mentor all night before his burial, murmuring apologies into his ears until dawn broke and the Clan buried him. Featherfall couldn’t find it in her to refuse her friend. There was a small chance that Featherfall’s whitecough would become greencough, but the way MeadowClan’s luck was running, why risk it? 

“I made you a moss bed by the small pool next to the cat-tails.” Mistwalk gestured to it with her ears. “Have a mouse and a nap. I’ll stand watch until you wake up.”

 _Where was this fucking usefulness days ago?_ Featherfall wanted to snarl. Instead, she nodded and let Mistwalk show her the moss nest.


	7. A Grey Day

The sound of pawsteps made Mistwalk turn from her herb pile. Three grey toms were walking across the Thunderpath to the aspen grove. A compact tom with a white front and paws led them; behind him walked a massive, scarred cat with blue eyes and one tailless, black-and-grey tabby with one eye, a scarred face and stumpy ears.

They were headed directly toward her, without slowing, without a raised tail or a nod. Her hackles rose. She went to stand in front of Featherfall, asleep in her moss bed.

“Good day,” she said, hoping to remind them of manners.

“And who do we have here?” the grey-and-white tom asked. His tail tip was twitching back and forth, for all that his voice was friendly.

“I’m Mistwalk and this is Featherfall. And yourselves?”

“I’m the Ruler. This,” a flick of an ear to the huge tom, “is the Enforcer. The other one is It.”

In another circumstance, Mistwalk might have chuckled at their names. There was nothing funny as the Enforcer lumbered to her right side and It scurried to her left, leaving the Ruler facing her.

Colour drained from the world. Mistwalk could only see in greys.

“What do you rule, then, Ruler?”

Twitch, twitch, twitch, went the tail tip. “The ground you’re standing on,” he said calmly.

It panted and paced to her left. The Enforcer’s only motion was to glance between her and Featherfall with dull curiosity.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Of course, we’ll leave right away.”

“Leave?” The Ruler’s ears flattened. “Do you think I’m just going to throw you out? Who treats guests like that? We’re not foxes, here. Well,” he corrected, “It’s father was a fox, but that’s not the same thing.”

The Enforcer mrrowed loudly and even It giggled. Her eye kept getting drawn to It, constantly moving. She struggled to remember to keep Enforcer in her sights.

Behind her, Featherfall stirred and, after a moment, gasped.

“Oh, I—I couldn’t impose,” Mistwalk said. “It’s not right. We’ll just be on our—”

The rustle of air in fur told her the Enforcer was moving. She whirled, claws out, to see him leaping at her. She almost scrambled to the side before realizing that would put him closer to Featherfall. She tried to correct herself and attack, but she was too late.

He knocked her off her paws and held her down. She kicked out with her hind legs, but though her blows landed, they didn’t shift him. He had a lot of fat padding his muscle.

Featherfall landing on him didn’t even make him move, though he grunted as her claws sunk in. She spat as It lunged at her, trying to knock her off. 

The Enforcer stepped on Mistwalk’s throat. The world went greyer. Her blows came faster and faster, but she might as well have been hitting stone. Something was happening up above, but she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears and she couldn’t see anything other than the Enforcer’s dark blue eyes, calm as twilit sky.

His paw left her throat. She gasped for air, rolling onto her stomach. The instant her four paws hit the ground, she tried to stand, but the Enforcer’s paw rested on her back.

“Don’t,” Featherfall said. “Please, Mistwalk.” Her friend blazed with colour with her short, white-and-orange coat raised and yellow eyes wide. Blood trickled from claw-marks at her flank and shoulder.

She nodded, but the Enforcer didn’t let her up until Featherfall sheathed her claws. Mistwalk rose slowly. She’d need some honey to soothe her throat, and Featherfall needed a sunflower-leaf poultice for her scratches.

“Now, let’s behave like civilized cats,” the Ruler said, as if he were talking to two errant kits. It was hard to hear him through the ringing in her ears. “Sorry for that little spat, but some cats need a demonstration of the Law. I don’t recognize your scent from the barn, so I know you’re not from around here. Longpaw pets, I’ll bet.

“Please, stop shaking, you.” He waved a tail at Featherfall, who was trembling, jaw clenched and pupils wide. “Let’s all be friends here. We’ll share a mouse and I’ll tell you all about the Law.”

The Enforcer snorted. “What’s to tell? It’s ‘do what I say.’”

“Piece of shit!” The Ruler whirled suddenly, hitting the Enforcer’s face with two strong blows with unsheathed claws.

Mistwalk caught her breath. Who would go from speaking to hitting so quickly?

The Enforcer grunted and hissed, but didn’t appear surprised. “Fine,” he grumbled.

The Ruler turned away and began grooming himself. The only signs of his rage were his flattening fur and the reek he left in the air. “Longhair,” he said, “I smelled some mice. Get them and we’ll talk.”

It took Mistwalk a few moments to realize who he was talking to. “I’m Mistwalk,” she croaked.

“That’s too long.”

“It’s the same number of syllables as—”

Jaws closed around her tail; It had snuck behind her. The tom bit down hard enough to make her gasp. Spitting her tail out, It snarled, “Hurry up! We’re _starving_! We walked _forever_ from Longpawhome!” He began to jump toward her, as if he were going to start chasing her any heartbeat. “Go, go, go!”

Mistwalk made for the bramble patch.

When Featherfall moved to follow, the Ruler brought his tail in front of her. Her claws began to slide out and her ears began to flatten. The Enforcer and It moved in closer, It quivering, the Enforcer almost bored.

Mistwalk met her friend’s gaze. _This is nothing, my love_ , she promised her. _We’ll get through this.  
_

With a hiss, Featherfall sheathed her claws. _  
_


	8. The Law

__

_“Anything you can’t talk to is killed. Usually, things you can talk to are killed, too. It’s a dangerous world out there. You have to strike or you’re struck.”_

The greys killed a raccoon on their third day in the aspen grove. Featherfall had just started to drive the beast away from the fresh-kill pile when the Ruler and the Enforcer charged it, yowling, fur bristling. The raccoon tried to run, but they didn’t let it escape.

“We’ll leave it by the Stonetrail,” the Ruler said, nodding to the Thunderpath. “Shorthair, Enforcer, hide and watch for ravens and crows. The Enforcer will show you how to hunt.”

How could he miss Featherfall’s wiry muscles? “She knows how to hunt,” Mistwalk said.

His ears twitched back in annoyance. She’d learned to watch his ears and tail intently. Who knew what would set him off? “I mean _really_ hunt.”

Mistwalk didn’t press the point.

The Ruler walked to her medicine den by the cat-tails; blood dripped from scratches on his shoulder and neck. The day they’d arrived, Mistwalk had made a sunflower-leaf poultice for Featherfall. She’d had to explain what she was doing to the Ruler, who’d demanded poultices for the Enforcer as well.

The Ruler lay in what had been Featherfall’s nest. Mistwalk examined his cuts. They weren’t deep. The Enforcer had taken the brunt of the damage.

It was running along the Thunderpath, carrying a dead snake, though a snake that moved very oddly. Seeing the Ruler, It bolted toward him, and Mistwalk saw the snake was an entire sunflower. _Am I dreaming?_

The grey-and-black tom dropped his prize at the Ruler’s nest. “I got it! Just like you said!”

The Ruler snorted. “Took you long enough. What, did the flower fight you?”

“Their stems are thick,” It muttered, cringing back.

“I wouldn’t harvest more,” Mistwalk said. “One less sunflower means fewer leaves for us in the long run.” _Even a kit could figure that out!_

The Ruler glanced at her, lip curling, and fear chilled Mistwalk’s skin. “I think I know how many plants there are in my own territory.” His face relaxed in a heartbeat. “Don’t worry so much, Longhair. I’ve got this.”

That day, Featherfall caught a raven and a crow. Scavenger birds had been a meal of last resort in the foothill clans. The Ruler shared the black-feathered birds with his subjects to show his generosity.

* * *

 

_“After the hunt, the Ruler gets the first pick of the prey. And we always hunt. We’re not weak Longpaw pets.”_

The moon was bright enough to show The Ruler’s fur rising as he sniffed the fresh-kill pile.

He stormed over to the medicine den. Mistwalk quickly stepped away from Featherfall, having passed her Clanmate some tansy for her whitecough. The Ruler always moved to intercept them when he saw them close enough to exchange words.

“All right,” he snarled. “I’ve been patient with you, Longhair, but it’s time you started contributing.”

“I caught a shrew—”

“I want the prey pile filled with your scent by moonhigh. My idiot brother will assist.” He gestured ‘follow me’ with his tail, then went to claw the Enforcer’s haunches to wake him up.

The two toms snarled and clawed at each other. While the Ruler’s attention was occupied, Mistwalk glanced at Featherfall, hoping to catch her eye, but she was staring sightlessly at her paws.

Mistwalk and the Enforcer hunted in what Mistwalk now knew was the abandoned Twoleg Kitplace, with the sand and the four large structures.

“Make it quick,” the Enforcer said, sitting. “I was having a great dream.”

Mistwalk sniffed. Sparrows and pigeons had perched here during the day. “What about?”

“Make it quick and _quiet_ , fox-fucker.”

Mistwalk fell silent. She tried to pretend she was hunting back in MeadowClan, that the Twoleg structures were odd rocks, that the breeze would bring the scent of Seedshine or her mother, Thawstep—but she could only pretend so much.

Near moonhigh, she’d only caught two mice and one young garter snake. _I have sunflower leaves, and cool water will help with swelling. I’ll make it through a beating. I’ll be strong, like Featherfall._

The Enforcer got to his paws. He grabbed the snake in his jaws. She assumed he was going to carry it back until he started eating it.

Mistwalk swayed on her paws, almost dizzy with terror. “The Ruler gets first pick!” she yowled.

“There’s the Law for wanderers like you, and there’s the Law for me. Go on, tell him I ate prey before him. I could use some fun.” He gulped the rest of the snake down.

To hide the meat on his breath, he ate some grapes in the old Twoleg garden. The Ruler was grooming himself under a spruce tree near the fresh-kill pile when they returned. It slept on the ground on the outskirts of the camp—not for him a crow-feather-lined nest. Featherfall was coughing wetly in the medicine den; she didn’t even look at Mistwalk or the Enforcer.

Trembling, Mistwalk set her two mice down on the fresh-kill pile. “These were all I could find.”

For a moment, the Ruler looked confused, as if he’d forgotten his order. Then he eyed her fresh-kill with a snort. “Well, not like I’m keeping you around for hunting.” He _mrrow_ ed and the Enforcer’s whiskers twitched.

“Well, I _can_ hunt.” _He really isn’t going to punish me?_ “But where I came from, I mostly looked after herbs.” When no blow fell, she slumped in relief. “I was a medicine cat. I looked after sick cats.” Finally, she stopped herself. These rogues didn’t deserve to know about StarClan.

“You might be too busy to pick plants, too.”

“Er, doing what?”

The two toms laughed again.

* * *

__

_“Disobedience is always justly punished.”_

_“Everyone gets what they deserve,” It seconded. He turned, giving them a full view of his tail stump. Mistwalk had assumed he was simply born without a tail, but now she saw there was a patch at the tip where the fur had grown back white. “This was because I was stealing prey.”_

Grinning, It scooped the minnow on the grass by Cypress Hill Pond, across from the aspen grove. The fish thrashed, gills expanding and contracting. “And that’s how you fish! Now you try.”

“Thank you, It. You’re very good at this.” Fishing was the only time she’d seen It go still and calm.

His eye narrowed and he looked away from her. As Mistwalk raised her paw and waited by the pond, silence stretched between them.

“It, was losing your eye a punishment, too?” Under normal circumstances, she’d never ask. _But this isn’t normal. I have to remember that. Everything’s lost if I forget that._

“Yes.” He stepped away from the pond. His voice wove from right to left as he paced. “I got our mother kidnapped by Longpaws. After I stole prey and the Ruler punished me, the Longpaws came while him and the Enforcer were out hunting.

“They took us to a Longpaw den filled with cats in small shining dens. I never knew there were so many cats in the world! It was awful, all those smells, all those strangers…. The Longpaws fixed my tail. It was hurting real bad. I tried to tell them it was a punishment, but they didn’t listen.

“I don’t know why, but the Longpaws released me. They should’ve released Mom. She was better at everything than me, and the Ruler loved her.”

“I’m a bit confused: The first day you arrived, didn’t the Ruler say your father was a fox? Why would he insult his mother by saying she’d take a fox for a mate?”

“Oh, that? That was a joke. Words don’t matter. Just laugh when he laughs.”

 _He’s cleverer about the Ruler than I am. I have to watch him._ “I’m so sorry you lost your mother, It. That’s one of the hardest things ever, isn’t it? I recently lost my own mother. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I barely remember Mom,” It said eagerly. “But I—” He paused and inhaled sharply. “Keep your mind on the pond, dumbass!”

Mistwalk stared at the pond silently.

Featherfall was returning to the aspen grove; Mistwalk could track her long, wet coughs without even swivelling her ears. Her whitecough had started a whole moon ago, and it was getting worse. Each day she brought back less prey, but the Ruler didn’t care. She was the first picked for hunt patrol every morning and afternoon.

_StarClan, please. If you’re there, heal Featherfall. Get her ready to run._


	9. Set Fire to the Rain

Featherfall was dreaming of Whisperstar, her wide brown eyes and crimson blood, when a rumble of thunder woke her. In MeadowClan, she’d have listened to her denmates chat and gossip as they waited for the storm to move on.

In the aspen grove, she slept in a nest in the bramble patch in the medicine cat den, with a cattail roof keeping out only some of the rain. She never had the energy to repair it. Mistwalk had tried, but whenever the Ruler noticed, he’d order her to do something for him.

Once, Featherfall had spent days reinforcing the outside of the nursery’s heather walls. The nursery was already protected by brambles, but Whisperstar had thought that thorns from rose bushes might give a determined badger or coyote extra pause. She’d asked for a volunteer to select rose branches with the sharpest thorns, gather them, and weave them into the existing bramble-and-heather walls, all while maintaining their regular duties. Only Featherfall had raised her tail.

She’d loved it: the solitude, choosing the best materials, building something from nothing.

Her mother, trying to be kind, had suggested she not wear herself out.

Larkflight had teased her that she must be expecting kits, she was so intense.

Featherfall wished she’d could have explained to them why this project was so important to her. She wished she’d understood it herself. She certainly couldn’t now. She was a different cat entirely.

The Ruler was hissing something. Featherfall pitied Mistwalk; at least her whitecough kept her from sharing a den with the Ruler and the Enforcer. She lay her head on her paws, listening to the rain and the thunder move across the sky.

A flash of white made her flinch.

“Fire!” It caterwauled. “Fire!”

Featherfall shot to her paws. Flames were licking at one of the boxwood bushes near the fresh-kill pile. Within heartbeats, the rain extinguished the flames.

“Shut up!” the Ruler snarled. With a hiss at the sky, he turned back to his nest. The Enforcer hadn’t even gotten out of his nest; he flopped down, scattering some crow feathers, and curled up. It didn’t follow, but paced back and forth.

Mistwalk was staring at the bush. Looking over her shoulder, she met Featherfall’s eye and nodded: this was a sign from StarClan.

All Featherfall could muster was _So?_

* * *

 It took days for Mistwalk to grab a moment alone with Featherfall to tell her what the sign meant.

“The boxwood bush is like Lightning Tree back home!” she whispered. Brambles and heather blocked them from the view of the rest of the aspen grove, but she pretended groom Featherfall nonetheless.

Featherfall didn’t point out that Lightning Tree had been a great redwood whose burning had shaped the foothills for generations. The boxwood bush had only one burnt branch.

“The rain stopped the fire from spreading and the bush still lives. It’s damaged, but it still stands. We’re the boxwood, Featherfall. Protected from destruction by power that comes from the sky!” They were close enough that Featherfall felt her quivering with excitement.

Featherfall didn’t point out that fire could also represent life and that rain came from grey stormclouds.

Mistwalk looked into Featherfall’s eyes, pupils slit and eyes half-lidded. It was the first time she’d looked content in a long time. “StarClan watches us still, my dear. I…I doubted, for a time, but now I know they do.”

Featherfall didn’t point out that if their ancestors were watching them, watching was all could do. _What good are they?_

__

Seedshine had said once that StarClan never promised a life free of pain. But this was too much to bear.

“Longhair? Shorthair?” It’s voice sounded, edging toward frantic.

Mistwalk brushed her tail tip against Featherfall’s cheek before she stepped out from behind the brambles. “Yes, It?”

“The Ruler wants a rainbow beetle.”

“He only had a sniffle! Rainbow beetles are for very serious illnesses.”

“Maybe we’ll find more?”

They kept talking, but Featherfall let their words fade away.


	10. Taken

Ashley was meeting a client who wanted to buy one of her “new” smartphones when she saw the cat. She was heading toward the field by the beach when a sneeze made her stop and look down.

The orange-and-white cat crouched in a nest of moss and feathers beneath a bramble patch, ears back and eyes wide. The wind had blown cattail leaves from the pool nearby, which had caught in the brambles. It looked almost like a little roof. The cat sneezed again. Eyeing her, it hissed and lashed its tail. Through the rain, Ashley could just make out green mucus dribbling from its nose.

Mittens had died two months ago; she still had all his things. She might even still have some antibiotics for his chest infection, too. Ashley Woods was a criminal, but she wasn’t a monster.

“Hey there, kitty,” she cooed. With one hand, she texted her client that she had a family emergency.

She had her burglary gloves on, so it was no problem to reach into the brambles and grab the cat. The poor little guy yowled and lashed out, but she held it close to her chest.

“It’ll be okay, sweetie. It’ll be okay.”

* * *

The Ruler stepped out from behind the cattails as the Longpaw’s monster ran away, and the Enforcer followed.

“Shit!” the Ruler snarled, fur bushed up. “I wanted that one!”

The Enforcer didn’t say that you were supposed to fight for things you wanted. The Ruler would spit and yowl for a while, then he’d forget all about Shorthair.

“You have another,” the Enforcer said, thinking of Longhair, who was picking weeds with It in the old Longpaw garden.

“A fat piece of fluff with Stonepath-kill for brains!” The Ruler began clawing apart Shorthair’s nest.

The Enforcer went to doze under one of the spruce trees, out of the rain. He awoke to a cry of pain.

“You don’t get to tell me what we do!” the Ruler snarled.

By Shorthair’s old nest, Longhair was backing away from the Ruler. “You’re—you’re right, Ruler. I’m so sorry. But we need Feath—Shorthair. She’s a good hunter.”

“She’s lost to us now. Even if she came back—” he glanced at It “—she’d be useless.”

It was pacing beside the Enforcer’s sleeping place. When the Ruler turned his attention back to Longhair, It leaned in and muttered, “I didn’t like Shorthair. She thought she was better than us, you could tell.” His ear-stubs perked. “Now Longhair won’t always try to run off and talk to her all the time!”

Sometimes, It could be such a kit. “Don’t get too attached.”

His eye widened. “I’m _not_ ,” he whined.

“Where are you hurt, Enforcer?” Longhair called to him.

“Hurt?”

“He’s fine,” the Ruler said. “The Longpaws just bruised him a bit, that’s all. They didn’t even touch me. He’s so fat, he can’t dodge as well as I can.”

The Enforcer was surprised his brother hadn’t said they returned from a hunt and found Shorthair gone. Was he trying to impress Longhair? Why bother?

Longhair gasped. “You fought Longpaws and escaped untouched? Ruler, don’t you see? That means only you can save Shorthair!”

The Ruler’s ears perked forward, and the Enforcer began to get a little worried.

“You’re so clever, so quick, and you know Longpawhome.” Longhair leaned into him, eyes wide.

He held her gaze for a few heartbeats then looked up the hill, to Longpawhome, his tail tip twitching. “A ruler looks out for his subjects.”

“We’re not going to find her,” the Enforcer said. “There’s no trail.”

The Ruler _mrrow_ ed. “We’ll ask other cats, Enforcer. It’s called in-ves-ti-ga-ting.”

The Enforcer hissed. “They won’t talk to us.” Had he forgotten why they had to leave Longpawhome in the first place?

The Ruler unsheathed his claws and slashed at the air. “Then we’ll make them, you idiot! I’m sorry you have to keep listening to this dog-brained piece of shit, my dear,” he said to Longhair. He raised his tail. “Come along, everyone. We’ll shelter in the Cat Garden while we wait for the clouds to clear.”

“Oh, thank you, Ruler, thank you!” Longhair purred, though she stopped when the Ruler nuzzled her cheek. “I—I know you’ll find her. I just know it.”

They were leaving now? In this weather? “Fuck that.” The Enforcer sat down under his tree. 

The Ruler snorted at him. His gaze locked on the Stonetrail up to Longpawhome, pupils widening. Fur rising, he started running. Longhair followed close behind. It yowled “Wait for me!” and bolted after them.

 _You have to look after him, Grey Bear._ The Enforcer flinched at the memory of Mom’s voice, quiet and desperate. _We’re family. Only we can understand him. The world can be so cruel._

Having these stupid she-cats around kept making him think of Mom. The Enforcer couldn’t wait until they were gone.

With a sigh, the Enforcer heaved himself to his paws and started after the Ruler and the others.


	11. The Search

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Rape

The Enforcer didn’t know the white tom with brown splotches, but he obviously knew them.

“Stay back!” he hissed, eyeing Enforcer and his brothers.

“Please, we’re not here to hurt—” Longhair began, but the cat darted away before she could finish. He soon disappeared behind a corner of the giant stone Longpaw den.

She started after him.

“Stop,” the Ruler snapped.

“But—”

“Enough backtalk, she-cat,” the Ruler snarled, stepping toward her. 

She stepped back, ears flat and eyes wide. “Sorry.” He caught her fear-scent, but of course he would. Everything terrified her: the Stonetrails, a distant dog’s bark, Longpaws just walking down the street. The Ruler had had to explain leashes—fucking leashes! She definitely wasn’t a pet.

The Ruler stopped his approach, throwing her a warning glance. The suntrees came to life, casting yellow pools of light on the Stonetrails. “I’m sick of walking. Let’s go back to the Cat Garden.”

The Enforcer perked up. Some Longpaw had thrown perfectly good chicken bones into the trashcan near the Cat Garden. _Finally, something’s going right._ Since dawn, he’d watched the Ruler and Longhair try and fail to get any cat to give them more than a few words.

When they arrived at the Cat Garden, the Enforcer sniffed around. He smelled the usual Longpaws and their pets, but no rogues. _They don’t all know we’re here yet. Good._ It dashed over to the stone-birds, which rested on springy stalks growing from the walls of one of the Twoleg nests. Giggling, he began batting one, his tail-stump twitching in excitement.

The Ruler began grooming himself. The Enforcer faced forward. Behind him was a small Longpaw nest with beautiful, fluffy cat nests inside, which he tried not to remember. The Ruler had caught him sleeping in one once. The fight had been fun; the endless lectures hadn’t been.

“Should we try up the hill tomorrow, Ruler?” Longhair asked. “It mentioned that he and your mother were brought to a place with many cats. I noticed that the Longpaw nests at the top of the hills are quite large.” 

The Ruler’s ears flattened. “The only place we’re going is back home.”

“But it’s only been a day!”

The Ruler recoiled. “There you go again, not trusting me. The questioning, the backtalk.... I left our territory defenseless, for you, as a favour, and this is what I get in return.” His tail lashed suddenly and he yowled, “Raccoons and foxes are pissing all over our scent-marks right now! I have to protect my home!”

“I don’t mean to ask so many questions, but I just get so confused, and you explain things so well....” She stepped back, glancing at her paws before she peeked up at him. “Like, why couldn’t It and the Enforcer defend the grove while you and I keep searching?”

The Ruler blinked. Then his whiskers twitched. “Want to get me alone, do you?” He glanced at the Enforcer, who forced an amused _mrrow_.

“I don’t know anything about this mad place.” She gestured with her tail to the Cat Garden and the Longpawhome beyond. “How else could I survive without your help? You know so much.”

“I do, don’t I?” The Ruler leaned in and sniffed between her hind legs.

Longhair gasped and jerked away from him. Her fur started rising. When her claws began to slide out, the Enforcer stepped forward. She whirled, eyes wide, mouth open. The Enforcer slid his claws out then sheathed then, and glanced at her paws.

She just kept staring at him. She didn’t seriously expect him to help her, did she? _Nah, she wants it. She’s just playing hard to get, like they all do._

Gulping, she sheathed her claws.

The Ruler was running his mouth again. The Enforcer tuned in to “...closer, wouldn’t you?” He was eyeing her haunches as closely as if he were checking for fleas.

“I’d like that, Ruler.” He moved in, but before he could do anything, she sat. “It’d be easier for me if we kept looking for Shorthair.” She was looking up at the stars, pupils wide with excitement. “Then, even if we don’t find her, I wouldn’t wonder. I’d know we did all we could.”

The Ruler snorted. “If we find her, I’ll be crow-food to you, as always.”

With a soft gasp, she looked at him over her shoulder, fur shining in the suntree-light. “Crow-food? Oh, Ruler, you never were. Not to me.” She looked almost pretty. Not that the Enforcer cared.

The Ruler beckoned with his tail. “Come here.” He led her behind one of the flower bushes. The Enforcer followed, since the Ruler hadn’t told him not to.

“I’m really happy to hear that, Longhair.” His tail tip was twitching. “It’s so hard to find companionship, isn’t it? Someone who understands.” He nuzzled her, purring, and she nuzzled him back.

She glanced at the Enforcer. “Could we have some privacy?”

Hissing, the Ruler lashed out at the Enforcer, who happily stepped away. The Ruler would be busy for a while. Time to find the garbage can with the chicken bones and grab a snack.

* * *

 

The Enforcer’s stomach was full when he came back to the Cat Garden. Longhair had yowled a few times, so he figured everything had gone great.

“Enforcer!” It ran up to him. “Did you see what Ruler and Longhair were doing? I only got a peek until the Ruler clawed at me. I asked Longhair, but she just stared at me. Nobody tells me anything! It’s like I’m not a part of this family!”

“Where’s he at, anyway?”

“Sleeping. Oh, what’s this?” It leaned in and sniffed his muzzle. At the Enforcer’s glare, he backed away, grumbling, “You could’ve saved me some.”

Longhair was grooming herself on a bench. The Enforcer sat beside her.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said in between long swipes of her tongue.

“Guess you were a shitty mount.”

“I was perfect.” She glanced up at the sky—no, not glanced, _glared_. She was one weird she-cat. “So perfect I have to be protected from any rogue toms. I’m not even sure I should be talking to you.”

“He knows I don’t care about that.”

“Don’t you?” she murmured. She was watching him. He could feel it.

Shifting his weight, the Enforcer focused on the taste of chicken grease in his mouth. At least something good had come of this stupid plan. “Not at all.”


	12. Sniffles

Ashley came home from work to find Sniffles still hiding under her bed, where she’d been for the last two days. Her roommate was quick to point out that Sniffles had once again failed to use her litterbox.

At least the food, and the medicine she’d crushed into it, was gone. _Soon I’ll have to think of a name other than Sniffles._ Ashley left some cat treats by the bed to lure her out, sat down and waited. Sniffles stayed under the bed.

“Okay, sweetie. I can wait.” She went into the living room to watch some Netflix.

* * *

 

She was getting used to the patterns in the Twoleg nest: The lack of scents. The Twolegs’ different voices and footfalls. The abundance of food.

Somehow, the Twoleg that found her could make food as warm as fresh-kill. She missed the taste of blood and the crunch of bone, but she could get used to steaming, salty chunks of meat mixed with crunchy pellets.

She could get used to no Ruler, as well.

 _Defend the Clans, even with your life._ Thoughts from another cat’s life bubbled up now and then. Like all bubbles, they soon vanished. Rogues and kittypets had no Clans or Clanmates to defend. They couldn’t get to StarClan. They had no one to answer to but themselves and no hope of a life beyond this one.

She laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes. Her whitecough was getting better; she was getting more uninterrupted sleep than she had in moons.

She woke to the clink and clatter of the small boulders and sticks Twolegs ate with. They spoke to each other in soft voices. They seemed kind.

She’d dreamed of the howls of coyotes in the distance and the pawsteps of gophers in their burrows. The mountain wind had cut into her thin pelt, but there were always cats nearby to help a shorthair like her warm up. _No matter. It’s always warm here._ She could just hear rain falling outside. _Warm and dry._

Her thoughts flickered to wide silver eyes. That stupid white she-cat. The life of a rogue was hard and short. Didn’t she know that when she ran away?

Wait. That wasn’t right. Featherfall had asked Mistwalk to leave, hadn’t she? Mistwalk could have stayed in the Clans. MountainClan’s deputy had personally assured her that she would be a medicine cat in her own right, and no mere apprentice, if she joined them.

She imagined Mistwalk a prisoner of the greys, birthing kit after kit for them until one of the Ruler’s sick games killed her. She felt nothing. But perhaps she’d feel again someday. What would she feel then, knowing she’d abandoned her only Clanmate and friend?

 _I have to get back to Mistwalk. We have to—_ A fog rolled over her mind. _We have to— We have to—_ Hissing, she went back to the basics: _I have to get back to Mistwalk._

The flap to the outside creaked open. The sound of rain grew louder. Food pellets clinked against the hollow boulder the Twoleg used to feed her. 

Featherfall slid out from under the nest and bolted for the outside. The Twolegs yowled, but she didn’t pay them any attention. 

After a few fox-lengths, she stopped, fur rising. She’d never seen so many Twoleg nests in her life. How was she going to get back to the aspen grove? She didn’t even know where she was. 

It would be so easy to turn around…. Behind her, the Twoleg was approaching, mewing softly, comfortingly.

Back in MeadowClan, Featherfall had led hunts and border patrols. She would have had an apprentice if greencough hadn’t taken MeadowClan’s kits that leaf-bare. But murdering Whisperstar had maimed her thoughts; they limped along instead of racing.

A deer caught her gaze. Deer didn’t live in Twoleg places. They were wild creatures, like her.

With no better option, she followed the deer and left the Twolegs behind.

* * *

 

“At least I don’t have hundreds of dollars in vet bills,” Ashley muttered. “Maybe we’ll meet again someday, Sniffles.”

“She probably left fleas everywhere,” Bemal said. “Along with her poop.”

“Yeah, probably.”

If this experience had taught Ashley one thing, it was that she missed having a cat in her life. She’d have to check out the Appaloosa Plains animal shelter sometime.


	13. Homecoming

Following the deer didn’t help much. They wandered into Twolegs’ gardens, eating plants, placid and unconcerned.

Eventually, though, Featherfall remembered the river. 

It took her most of the evening to work her way there. Once the sound of the current replaced the sounds of the Twolegplace, she napped briefly beneath a pine tree then followed the river downstream. She meandered like a butterfly, flitting from bush to tree to riverbank, and told herself she was hunting. Now and then, she sat and stared at the river, watching the water rush past to its unknown destination.  

At sunhigh, Featherfall could make out the Greenleaf Twolegplace in the distance. She began coughing. Her paws dragged.

As she approached, Mistwalk walked from the medicine cat den and spotted her. With a gasp, Mistwalk started running. “Shorthair’s back!”

Featherfall stopped. She endured Mistwalk’s nuzzle. She’d hoped to feel something when she saw her Clanmate, but there was only a smothering fog inside her. 

“And she’s not Cut!” the Ruler said. He’d approached them and Featherfall hadn’t even noticed.

“Cut?” Mistwalk asked.

“You know, Cut. Longpaws make it so you can’t have kits.”

“It’s true!” It said as he and the Enforcer approached. “They make a cut in your pee-place.”

“How do you think It earned its name?” His tail raised, the tip curving. “See, ‘Forcer? Everything always works out in the end.”

“Then why did we even go to Longpawhome in the first place?” the Enforcer snarled.

The Ruler glanced at Mistwalk as he _mrrow_ ed, as if they were sharing a private joke. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

Mistwalk cheerfully trilled back, batting at his cheek with her tail tip. “Oh, hush, you!”

Featherfall flinched like she’d just stepped on a thorn. A cough gave her the excuse to look away from the two of them. _Mistwalk must have been just aching to move her tail aside for some tom. It’s why she didn’t fight hard the first day they arrived._

“May I show Shorthair the nursery?” Mistwalk asked.

“Sure, sure!” He followed them.

The nursery was hidden from the Greenleaf Twolegplace by the stone ridges that surrounded the aspen grove, and protected on all other sides by the boxwood bushes. Mistwalk had started to dig a burrow. MeadowClan had wintered in burrows dug by badgers and foxes.

_She plans to stay here with her mate for many seasons. Evil, oath-breaking fox-heart!_

“Here it is!” With unnecessary grandness, Mistwalk gestured with her tail. She ended with her tail pointing at the burnt branch of the nearby boxwood bush: StarClan’s sign. Smoothly, she wrapped her tail around her paws, as if she’d just gestured that way out of happenstance.

As if Mistwalk would ever willingly abandon the ways of a medicine cat. Featherfall couldn’t meet her gaze, ashamed at how quickly she’d turned on her friend.

The Ruler’s paw slammed into her left cheek, skin parting before his claws. Gasping, Featherfall staggered backward. 

“You could fucking congratulate her!” the grey-and-white tom snarled. “And look at all the work she’s done! You stare at the nursery like it’s nothing. It’s just rude, that’s what it is. Disgustingly rude!”

“Congratulations,” Featherfall said, her voice tight. Blood dripped down her cheek.

“You’re on digging duty until I say otherwise. No lazing about!” He swatted her haunches and she hurried to the small hole. “You better get used to the nursery. It’ll be your home too, once I can stand the sight of you.”

“And once her whitecough’s gone, right?” Mistwalk asked, head tilted, as if she were working on a complex riddle.

“What?”

“A sick mother means sick kits.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Everyone knows— Unless I’m wrong, of course.”

His eyes narrowed. She’d just implied he didn’t know something. A dangerous gamble.

“Of course I meant after her whitecough!” he spat. “Just use your brain once in awhile!” He stormed away, tail lashing.

“We can—” Mistwalk began, only to stop when the Enforcer sauntered over, shredded ears perked to hear them better.

 _Fight_ , Featherfall supplied. _We can fight._ The fog rolled in again, chilling any thought other than this: _A true warrior could have avoided his blow._

She had no words to say this to Mistwalk. Instead, she coughed a few times then dug her claws into the thick soil.

_Mistwalk, you deserve so much better than me._


	14. Becoming Queens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to rape, abortion

The ruse that a mother touched with whitecough would lead to sickly kits kept the Ruler from Featherfall for a time.

He stopped caring after a quarter-moon.

He was not gentle. He was not private. He didn’t even particularly care if they were in heat or not. Mistwalk and Featherfall formed a new language of politeness: if he mounted one in full view of camp, the other pretended not to see. Mistwalk snuck poppy seeds into their prey to dull the ache of the bruises from where he bit and where he entered. As Mistwalk’s belly grew before Featherfall’s, Featherfall let her have the biggest pieces of prey.

In fact, Featherfall kept letting her have the best prey after her own belly started to swell. Mistwalk had to nudge some of the plumpest squirrels and voles back to her to make sure she ate appropriately.

Leaf-fall winds began to leach the warmth from bright greenleaf days. Their bellies grew. Every day, Mistwalk thought about the greys. Somewhere in this web of relationships was the path to freedom, she just knew it.

The Enforcer would be a plumpest gopher in the warren. Without him, the Ruler would fall apart, and not just because of the Enforcer’s claws. He was the one who kept Mistwalk and Featherfall split up. He organized the hunts (though the Ruler would sometimes throw a fit and override him). When he shared tongues with the she-cats, he always sniffed to make sure their scent matched where they said they’d been. 

But catching him would prove difficult. She’d need to step as carefully as if she were sneaking through a wolf pack’s den. His suspicion could mean death.

There were moments Mistwalk thought It could be an ally, though he was as flighty as the Ruler. He was overjoyed at the thought of being an uncle, but whenever Mistwalk tried to steer the conversation to something beyond pregnancy and kits, he found an excuse to leave. The she-cats were a trail that led to an exciting adventure, not real cats in their own right.

And Mistwalk remembered how hard he’d bitten her tail the first day they met. He may not be innately cruel, but he’d clearly grown accustomed to cruelty.

Of course, she had to constantly consider the Ruler. Now and then, he acted the potential father. He let “his dear mates” select the biggest prey from the fresh-kill pile. He gently tugged the mats out of Mistwalk’s long fur. He helped dig the nursery burrow. There were moments—terrifying moments—when Mistwalk almost saw some good in him.

She was grateful that those moments always passed. She could still tell false from true.

With the greys constantly on her mind, she barely had time to think of Featherfall, and she hated herself for that. Though she’d always been quiet, since she’d returned from the Twolegplace, Featherfall rarely spoke unless prompted. As her kit grew inside her, Featherfall hunted relentlessly. One of the few times she’d broken her silence was to ask for more hunt patrols.

 _She knows we need prey_ , Mistwalk assured herself. _That’s all._

* * *

They finished the burrow on a cloudy, chilly afternoon. Warm nests of moss and feathers waited within.

As Featherfall turned away, Mistwalk quickly said, “You deserve a rest, my dear! The fresh-kill pile’s full. Why don’t you curl up and I’ll see if he left that fat shrew?”

“I left some acorns for you all to play with,” It said. “I loved playing with acorns when I was a kit. Maybe if you play with acorns now, your kits will like it!”

“That was very thoughtful of you, It. Shorthair, where are you going?”

“To get even fatter shrews.”

Unease prickled at the fur along Mistwalk’s spine. They’d been working all day. She couldn’t go for a hunt now, not this late in her pregnancy.

“Shorthair, please, you have to think of your kit.”

Featherfall stopped and stared at her. Her lip twitched, as if she meant to bare her teeth but just stopped herself.

Sighing, Mistwalk faced what she’d been denying: Featherfall didn’t want to think of her kit. Mistwalk couldn’t blame her.

“Huh? What do you mean? Could something go wrong with the kit if she hunts?” It asked.

Mistwalk hesitated. What did one hunt matter, in the end? Perhaps the kit would be fine. And if it weren’t, maybe Featherfall would be better off. Why risk Featherfall’s friendship?

“Being a medicine cat is for life, fluff-brain,” Seedshine had lectured. “Once you have a trained apprentice, you can take a mate and bear kits of your own. But even when you’re a queen, you’re still a medicine cat. Burn that into your soul now.”

_I vowed before StarClan to protect all life. My love, I’m so sorry._

“Not hunting, no. But if she exerts herself too much, she could damage her body and the kit’s chances of survival—and her own.”

“Really?” It blinked. “You should stay here, then! I’ll hunt. I’ll get all the shrews!” He dashed away, giving Mistwalk and Featherfall a rare moment alone.

Featherfall was staring at her the same way she had the day she’d struck Mistwalk. “Tell It you were lying or being too cautious. Now.”

After a shaky inhale, Mistwalk managed, “I—I know you don’t really want to hurt a kit, Featherfall.”

Hearing her real name, the she-cat startled, but her anger returned a heartbeat later. “I want this _thing_ out of me.” 

Mistwalk leaned forward, whispering quickly. “The warrior code forbids harming kits, and you’re a true warrior—and we’ll teach our kits to be, too! Our mothers taught us Clan life in the nursery. Could the Ruler or It sit by the nursery entrance long enough to listen to our every word? And the Enforcer, well, we both know he’d fall asleep! We’ll have time alone with our kits. We’ll teach them to be good and kind and just.” She gestured with her muzzle to the burned branch. “StarClan is watching out for us.”

Featherfall’s taut muscles slackened and her gaze drifted away. As quickly as Mistwalk had her, she’d lost her. What could Mistwalk say to help her?

“Feather—”

Her ear twitched behind her. The Ruler was trotting over to them, ears perked and tail raised, likely to celebrate the completed burrow. “Best call me Shorthair.”

“For now, yes.”

She didn’t like Featherfall’s blank expression nor her soft chuckle. “For now,” she repeated, and it didn’t sound like she agreed.


	15. Birth

Despite his role in making Mistwalk and Featherfall pregnant, the Ruler hated how lazy it made them.

Mistwalk had been feeling anxious and restless all day, but she wouldn’t risk harming her kit by arguing with the Ruler when he ordered her to gather the last of the herbs from the abandoned garden. 

She went into labour as she reached the fence.

The only protection nearby was the hydrangea bushes. She hurried under them and began licking away the womb-fluid seeping from her vagina. The flowers on the bushes were dead, so there was no scent to remind her of the Cat Garden, but disgust raised her fur nonetheless. 

“Longhair!” It padded up to her, eye wide. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“My kit’s coming. Could you please—”

“He should be here.” It started to move, then stopped himself. “Shouldn’t he?”

“It, could you escort me—”

He bolted for the aspen grove. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him!”

MeadowClan cats had kitted in worse places than a scraggly bush near a Thunderpath. One queen, Brightclaw, had kitted during one of the summer fires that swept the meadow. Mistwalk licked herself, paced and waited. The garden wasn’t far from the aspen grove, but no one came. The Ruler must have gone hunting and not told anyone where.

The smell of deer spiked her fur. At the clacking of a tree branch, she hissed, lashing her tail. The rush of a faraway monster made her unsheathe her claws. _I can’t stay here!_

She ran for the aspen grove. Her first contraction hit as she passed the monsteryard. She staggered to a stop, closing her muzzle on a yowl so it only came out as a groan. Heart pounding, she darted beneath the fence. The evergreen hedges by the old Twoleg nest would be good cover. 

Panting, she hid, trying to cover as much of her white pelt as possible. 

When It and the Ruler appeared in her field of vision, she growled before she could stop herself. The two toms stopped approaching. The Ruler stared at her in surprise, his pupils widening—then narrowing to slits as his ears drew back.

Fear filled her, more powerful than any contraction. “My love, please forgive me! I didn’t mean to snarl. It’s instinct, only instinct!”’

The Ruler whispered, “You left her alone.” He fixed his yellow-eyed gaze on It.

“Huh?” It began backing up. “To—to find you, brother! I knew you’d want to be—”

The Ruler lashed out, claws out, a blow to punctuate each word. “You! Left! My! Mate! Alone!”

“I’m sorry!” It yowled louder than a monster’s howl. “I’m stupid! I’m stupid!”

Another contraction stabbed through Mistwalk, making her claw at the dirt. “We can’t attract attention!” She barely recognized that sharp snarl as hers. “Not now. Just keep watch.” The pain ebbed enough that she remembered to beg. “Please, my love.”

The Ruler struck her with claws out, but what did that compare to the pain of her kit’s birth? At least he listened; he paced quietly, tail lashing. It cringed, but even his moans fell silent. As time passed and her contractions came and went, Mistwalk noticed he only cringed when the Ruler was looking his way. The rest of the time, It watched her hindquarters, his eye bright and ears perked.

_He gives the Ruler a show and stops himself from getting a worse beating. Clever It._

The moon had moved the width of a shorthair’s tail by the time her kit was born. Mistwalk licked the membrane from them and began licking against their fur. Gradually, the smell of her womb-fluids faded and she could make out their scent: a tom. He was white-furred and long-haired as she was. She sighed in relief. Not that looks mattered, of course. She’d love him no matter what. (But it was easier, she admitted, when he looked like her.)

“That was disgusting,” It said, giggling.

The Ruler glanced at his brother, _mrrow_ ing in amusement. “You came out of Mom like that. So did the others.”

It flinched as if struck and stared at his paws. 

Her kit squirmed to her teat and began sucking. Purring, she wrapped her tail around him to keep him warm.

“I’ll call him This,” the Ruler announced. “Shorthair’s kit will be That. This and That! Get it?”

It, usually the first to laugh at his brother’s jokes, didn’t even chuckle. Mistwalk forced herself to _mrrow_. Let the Ruler call her son whatever he wanted. His true name was Meadowkit.

“We’ll see what name This earns,” the Ruler said, eyes half-lidded and tail raised.

_For once, we agree. Meadowheart, perhaps. I’ll try to make him worthy of that._

* * *

Featherfall kitted three days after Mistwalk. The birth went well, though Mistwalk had to encourage her to lick the membrane off what turned out to be another tom, white with a patch of orange on his rump and black ear tips. The Ruler visited his kit, named him, and left a few heartbeats later, leaving the Enforcer to watch over the she-cats.

When the Enforcer’s snores competed with the howling of icy wind, Mistwalk whispered, “What do you want to name him?”

Featherfall was silent for so long that Mistwalk was about to repeat the question until she muttered, “Barekit.” No Clan cat would ever name their kit after the season of starvation and killing cold. After the strain of birth, Featherfall would come to her senses.

Mistwalk nudged Meadowkit against her teat to encourage him to suckle. This was the second day she’d had to do that. _He’s as forgetful as his mother, poor thing._ He didn’t suckle strongly. _Perhaps he’s not hungry?_

Seeing Featherfall lay her head on her paws and stare blankly at the nursery wall broke her heart. She couldn’t move to groom Featherfall without dislodging Meadowkit, so she reached out with her tail. “May I…?” Once, she never would have had to ask. Another mark the Ruler had left on them.

“Do what you want.” So Mistwalk stroked Featherfall’s back and haunches until her eyes began to drift closed.

The new kit’s fur had dried enough that Mistwalk could make out more of his features. Already his ears seemed large, like his mother’s. “What do you think of Rabbitkit?” she blurted out before she remembered she was trying to soothe Featherfall to sleep.

“Do what you want,” she murmured, eyes closed.

“Meadowkit and Rabbitkit.” Meadowkit dropped his mouth from her teat. He should have been hungrier. “Good names for our good young toms. Our dear boys.”


	16. The Cold Dark Earth

“Time to wake up, my love,” Mistwalk murmured.

Meadowkit was curled beside her.

He wasn’t moving.

She nudged him with her nose. He was still warm, but he wasn’t moving.

“Or—or you can stay asleep. If you want. But just…but only for a little while longer. You need your food, remember?”

Had his side moved? It must have. She was the one having trouble breathing, not him.

“I had two whole voles last night, so don’t worry, I’ve got more than enough milk! I do miss gophers, of course, but those voles were—they were....”

She began grooming him, licking against the fur as she had when he was born, and tucked her tail around him. She had to keep him warm because it was so cold in the burrow.

He didn’t move.

“As a medicine cat, you’ll lose kits,” Seedshine had lectured once. (And she had, after he died. Every kit from every MeadowClan litter. Gone.) “They’re always the hardest.”

A moan worked its way out of her throat. Mistwalk tensed, stopping the yowl that wanted to burst free. She was a medicine cat and could at least try for some dignity. She must have said things to the parents of MeadowClan’s dead kits, but she couldn’t remember what. She never could remember anything important.

Featherfall turned to face Mistwalk for the first time since the birth of Rabbitkit days ago. Seeing Meadowkit, she gasped, then bowed her head. 

“Huh?” It was keeping an ear on them this morning. “Everything okay in there?”

It would tell the Ruler. What would the Ruler do to her?

An image flashed through Mistwalk’s mind: It, wounds dripping, hurting but not hurting more than he could bear as he watched her give birth.

Mistwalk threw back her head and yowled. Here, she had no grieving parents to inform and no professional air to maintain. There was only her pain. She kept yowling until the Ruler thrust his head into the burrow to scream “What?!”

“Our son! He’s gone!”

His eyes widened. “Dead? My—my son?”

Beyond the burrow, It moaned.

The Ruler’s ears flattened. His mouth was so close. Mistwalk couldn’t stop her claws from sliding out. He lunged forward, grabbing her ear and biting hard. Pain shot through her, sharp and hot. She screamed. (Always, she tried to be brave when he hurt her, stoic as Featherfall. Always, she failed.) Instinctively, she tried to pull her head away, but that only hurt more. She couldn’t breathe.

Another growl joined his: Featherfall’s. Mistwalk caterwauled louder, hoping to drown her Clanmate out. The Ruler pulled Mistwalk out of the burrow by her ear then let her go. Horribly, she was thankful. He could have done so much worse.

Ear wounds always bled so much. Blood spilled down her cheek, her neck, droplets falling onto the snow. Had he bitten clean through? The Ruler was staring at her, fur bristled, still furious. The Enforcer and It moved to either side. To block her escape, she realized.

Her body wanted her to escape—or to fight. The pain was fading as she started trembling. She had enough presence of mind to moan “Our son” instead of ‘my son.’ “Our dear little boy.”

“She loved him.” Featherfall had followed Mistwalk out of the burrow, her voice low and urgent. “She didn’t hurt him. What mother could hurt her kits?”

Mistwalk had to prove her innocence, but her thoughts had scattered. “Once he was old enough, I was going to show him the snow. ‘Don’t disappear in it,’ I’d say. Because—because he’s bright white, like me.” The burnt branch was in the corner of her eye. Why had StarClan given her this mission only to take it away from her? “He might’ve laughed. I wanted him to.”

The Ruler’s snarl relaxed, though his pupils were still slitted in anger. He leaned in. Though Mistwalk flinched, she forced herself to stay still. He nuzzled her, and didn’t seem to care that she was bleeding on him.

“Hush, Longhair. I’m sorry for the punishment, but the kit _did_ die and it was on your watch. The price _had_ to be paid.” He licked her blood-warm cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll have others.”

It took all of Mistwalk’s willpower not to claw his face.

* * *

To her surprise, The Ruler actually helped bury Meadowkit. He, the Enforcer, and Mistwalk worked together in silence. Featherfall would have helped, but Mistwalk quietly murmured that Rabbitkit—That, she’d been forced to call him—must be lonely. At such an early age, kits needed warmth as much as food.

The Ruler grandly let Mistwalk make a poultice for her ear after they were done. He’d used so many of her herbs for every possible illness and complaint that she didn’t have many left. His fang had pierced her ear through. 

Without thinking, Mistwalk returned to the burrow. She was curled into her nest before she realized she should probably make another nest aboveground. She closed her eyes, mentally repeating the prayer that had come to her as she dug: _Mama, greet my son in StarClan. I wanted to teach him the warrior code. Please, teach him what I couldn’t. Tell him I love him._

Rabbitkit was squeaking loudly. Meadowkit had been so quiet yesterday. She should have known. She should done more. What kind of medicine cat was she? What kind of mother?

“You could nurse him, if you like,” Featherfall said.

Blinking, Mistwalk stared at Rabbitkit. “I....” What if she carried some sickness that had infected Meadowkit? She couldn’t pass it on to another innocent.

“Perhaps,” Featherfall said, “you can care for That while I return to hunting duties.”

Unless this was what StarClan wanted? _Yes. It has to be._ Her heart began to beat faster. Here was a chance to fulfill StarClan’s mission. “Do you think the Ruler will allow it?”

“He better,” came the Enforcer’s voice from outside the burrow. “The way you raccoons are gulping prey down, we’re gonna need a lot more.”

Featherfall picked Rabbitkit up and gently laid him down at Mistwalk’s side. She wanted to feel her son’s long fur beside her, not Rabbitkit’s short fur. Gasping, she looked away.

_Pain is good._ She forced herself to look down at Rabbitkit. _Pain will make me stronger. There will be no more dead kits, I swear it._

 


	17. An Interlude: Back to the Barn

Something was wrong.

With snow thick on the ground, Two Tone should have been able to smell the barn from the Monstertrail. Instead, the wind brought his nose barely anything.

As he approached the barn, at first he thought the snow had covered the Uprights’ food bowls. When he got closer, he realized the bowls were gone. The monsters were still by the main Upright den. Had the Uprights turned against the cats in their barn at last?

“Sweeps Up?” he called out.

She appeared at the barn door, and Two Tone sighed with relief. At least one thing was right in the world. She looked the same as ever, even down to the straw caught in her thick belly fur.

“Two Tone!” She leaned in for a nuzzle. Two Tone inhaled the scent of straw, mice and her. “Come in! You must be freezing.”

Inside, Gina slept in a pile of hay and Mouse Face was grooming himself. Normally, Two Tone would have assumed there were more cats out hunting or visiting, but a few sniffs brought only their scents.

“You’re back!” Mouse Face bounded over, nuzzling him. “What’s new? Tell me everything!”

“I’d rather hear everything about what’s happened to the barn. Where is everyone? This isn’t all because the greys have returned, is it?” The barn colony had survived those mad beasts before.

Sweeps Up sighed. “The greys returned this greenleaf _and_ the Uprights stopped bringing food at the start of leaf-bare.”

“Because of our wickedness,” Gina said. The old ginger she-cat moved stiffly and her sight was failing, but her hearing was evidently still sharp. Throwing back her head, she yowled, “We must repent and beg to join the Uprights in their blessed dens of plenty!”

By an unspoken agreement, everyone else moved to a quieter corner of the barn.

“Even Terrier and Manx?” Two Tone asked. The grey tom Terrier and his dog friend Manx frequently spent leaf-bare at the barn.

“The Uprights invited Manx into their den for an evening,” Mouse Face said. Two Tone knew instinctively what would follow. “Terrier panicked—he and the dog left long before we first smelled the greys.” Terrier hated Uprights, and would do anything to keep him and Manx from them.

Two Tone sighed. “I’ve more bad news. You remember those two she-cats? At dawn, I was taking shelter beneath one of the pine trees in the copse nearby when the orange-and-white she-cat walked by with one of the greys.”

Sweeps Up gasped. “Those poor dears. Did she and the grey…?”

“They didn’t see me.”

“Good. Such poor things.”

“We must rescue them!” Mouse Face declared.

Two Tone’s heart sank at the thought of facing the greys. At least it was Sweeps Up who told Mouse Face, “Absolutely not.”

“But—but you’re the one who always blathers on about kindness and responsibility! We have a responsibility to save the she-cats from those villains, don’t we?”

“The greys won’t give those she-cats up without a fight.”

“Perhaps it slipped your attention, but there are three of us and three of them. Surely we could—”

“They’re three mad killers. What fighting have you done besides a scuffle or two? I certainly haven’t done more than that in seasons.”

“Two Tone, you can’t possibly agree with her.”

“If Terrier and some of the tougher wanderers were here, I’d say it was worth the risk. As it is….” Two Tone sighed. Glancing at Sweeps Up, he silently asked forgiveness before saying, “They tore Brownie apart, Mouse. What they did to her….” He curled his tail tightly around his white paws.

Sweeps Up, who’d had to bury pieces of her own mother, comforted him by brushing her tail down his back. 

After an awkward glance at Sweeps Up, Mouse Face protested, “Brownie tried to talk to them. We won’t talk! I’m not saying we charge in—we’ll plan an ambush or sneak in and steal the she-cats away while the greys are sleeping.”

“Let’s wait until new-leaf,” Sweeps Up suggested. “We’ll see who returns to the barn before we do anything.”

“Wait? More like cower!” Mouse Face hissed in frustration and stormed out of the barn, tail lashing.

“He thinks everything’s a tale,” Sweeps Up murmured. “I should make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.” She pointed with her muzzle to one of the stalls. “I’ve two mice left. Could you see to Gina? She won’t want to eat because of her teeth, so you’ll need to charm her. Feel free to have half of the other mouse.”

“Are you eating?” Two Tone asked.

She headed for the barn door. “I’m getting by.”

Two Tone called out “That’s not a yes,” but she pretended not to hear as she slipped outside.

When Two Tone brought Gina her mouse, the old she-cat said, “Being a companion of the Uprights means no terrible choices.”

Two Tone couldn’t help but glance away. He’d always thought himself a good cat. He’d made mistakes in his four winters of life and he’d tried to learn from them. 

_Now I know the limits of my goodness._ To avoid this conversation, he nudged Gina’s mouse toward her with his muzzle.

“I’m not eating that. My teeth hurt. Every single tooth, all along my lower jaw. They burn like fire.”

“You could lecture me better on a full stomach, elder.”

“Pah, you never listen to me anyway.”

At least this argument distracted him from his unsettled thoughts.


	18. Behind Blue Eyes

The Ruler poked his head into the burrow now and then to check on his kit, but for the most part he left Rabbitkit and Mistwalk alone. Now that Rabbitkit was half-a-moon old, able to see, hear, and babble, Mistwalk worried his interest would increase.

So she wasn’t surprised when, one day, the Ruler paused to watch his son wrestle with Mistwalk’s tail tip. What surprised her was the sudden rage that flattened his ears and made him snarl.

Mistwalk was in front of Rabbitkit without being conscious of moving. “Is—is something—?” she stammered, heart pounding. Her ear throbbed at the memory of his teeth.

The Ruler pulled his head out of the burrow to yowl “Enforcer!”

“What the fuck are you—?” the Enforcer snarled.

A fight broke out up above. It went on much longer than the everyday scuffles that lasted a few heartbeats. Trying to gather her thoughts, Mistwalk stared at Rabbitkit. What could have triggered so much hate?

He tugged on her tail, mewing in the high-pitched way of kits. Seeing her watching him, he blinked sweetly and toddled over to her. Everything was normal for a cat his age. The way he moved, his voice, his unfurled ears and opened eyes.

His blue opened eyes—nearly the same shade of blue as the Enforcer’s.

Gasping, Mistwalk burst out of the burrow to see the Ruler lunging for the Enforcer’s throat. The massive grey cat just managed to retreat in time. He was bleeding from scratches along his muzzle and cheeks. 

“What—calm down—fucking stop!” She’d never heard the Enforcer actually scream before.

The Ruler lunged for his brother’s throat again. The Enforcer pushed him aside with his massive paw. The Ruler twisted and sank his jaws deep into the Enforcer’s upraised paw.

“All kits have blue eyes!” Mistwalk yowled, but she could barely hear herself over the Enforcer’s shriek. “Kits are born with blue eyes!” The Ruler let go of his brother’s paw to rake his claws along the Enforcer’s throat. The Enforcer jerked his head away, blood droplets flying from his long ruff: a shallow cut, at least. “Their eye colour changes as they get older!” The Enforcer turned to run, but the Ruler, on four uninjured paws, blocked him easily. “Didn’t It have blue eyes when he was a kit?”

The Ruler paused. The Enforcer stared at him, eyes wide, panting more than she’d ever seen him.

“That’s right,” the Ruler said slowly. “He did.” Shaking his head, he mrrowed. “Shit. Sorry, brother.” He tilted his head, as if he couldn’t quite figure out why his brother was bleeding so much.

Of course, the Ruler’s much less serious wounds were seen to with the best cobwebs and herbs in the proper medicine den by the small pond. He allowed Mistwalk to return to the burrow to care for Rabbitkit as she chewed up the last of the sunflower leaves for a poultice for the Enforcer’s many cuts.

The thought that she should have let the Enforcer die warred with her deep revulsion at letting any cat be murdered. _But if I could get him to leave on his own...._

__

She left the burrow to find the Enforcer trembling, staring at Cypress Hill Pond across the Thunderpath. The pond had been the greys’ first home, she remembered. Overfishing had been one of the reasons they’d had to leave for the Twolegplace.

The Ruler had bitten deep into the muscle of the Enforcer’s paw. Dried leaves could only do so much, but if they stopped an infection, she could save his paw-pad.

As she finished, she plucked up her courage and murmured, “Is kin turning on kin part of the Law as well?”

“Shut your mouth,” he growled softly, ears flattening.

Mistwalk almost apologized and back away. “It wasn’t right.”

From his heat of his glare, the many cuts on the Enforcer’s muzzle were likely the only reason he didn’t bare his teeth. “Shut up.”

This time she did. Seeds needed time to sprout, after all.


	19. The Flat-Faced Visitor

“Excuse me!” a she-cat called from just outside the aspen grove. “Could I trouble you for some directions?”

Mistwalk poked her head out of the nursery burrow to see the Ruler and the Enforcer padding over to the visitor, who stood by the suntree near the Thunderpath. She was a black longhair with a bizarrely flat face wearing a bright green collar.

The Ruler and approached unhurriedly, tail up in a friendly way, the Enforcer limping behind him. Mistwalk felt ill.

“Mama?” murmured Rabbitkit,  yawning.

“Go to sleep, love.” Mistwalk only went outside after he curled up with a soft “‘Kay.” She hurried over to the suntree, joining Featherfall and It, who stood behind the Ruler and the Enforcer.

“Good evening, sirs and madams!” the kittypet said. “I went for a stroll and got a tad turned around. I don’t suppose there’s a house nearby with a green roof and green window trim...?”

“I don’t,” the Ruler said. The she-cat glanced at the other cats as if she expected them to answer, but he continued, “We can help you find it in the morning. You should spend the night with us.”

Her ears twitched in surprise. “Why, thank you!” The Ruler led her further into camp. Didn’t she notice how the Enforcer and It took up positions on either side of her to block off her escape?

The kittypet introduced herself as Menzel. Though the names of the greys surprised her, she covered well.

“Please, take this nest.” The Ruler gestured to Featherfall’s nest, in between his and the Enforcer’s, with his muzzle.

“A nest of crow feathers—how darling!” Menzel began to settle in, then stood up after a sniff. “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly steal anyone’s—”

“There’s room for Shorthair in the nursery burrow,” the Ruler said.

“A burrow!” Menzel exclaimed. “First nests like birds, now burrows like moles. Next you’ll tell me you swim in lakes like fish.” She laughed, and the Ruler _mrrow_ ed with her. “Why, you wild cats are such _creative_ creatures.” She leaned forward, sniffing at Mistwalk. “Congratulations, by the way. What litter are you on? I had my eighth this spring.”

 _Eighth?_ Mistwalk startled. Menzel looked young and healthy enough to be a yearling. There were more important things than a kittypet’s age, however: the Ruler’s ears perked at the news that she was unCut.

“This is my first litter,” Mistwalk said. Mistwalk wished she could lower her ears or curl her tail under her belly. All she could do was stare into Menzel’s yellow eyes. _Run. Please, run._ “You should meet That—our kit’s named That—before you leave.”

“Er, a practical name, considering how dangerous your lives must be.” She nodded deeply to the Ruler as she settled into the nest. “Thank you again for your kindness.”

* * *

At dawn, Menzel’s voice drifted into the burrow. The Ruler responded; the edge to his superficially polite tone made Mistwalk shiver. She tried to share a glance with Featherfall, but her friend was staring at her paws.

“Who’s that?” Rabbitkit asked Mistwalk. He was one moon and thought he was a full-grown warrior, some days.

“A kittypet arrived last night. She’s just leaving.” _Please, StarClan, let her leave._ “Stay inside, dear.”

“But I wanna see a kittypet! I never sawed one, never, ever, _ever_! Mama!”

Featherfall’s ears flattened and she left the burrow quickly. Rabbitkit tried to follow her; Mistwalk only just managed to snag his scruff and pull him back.

“Lemme go!” Rabbitkit growled, squirming and kicking as he dangled from her jaws.

Menzel snarled “—entitles you to nothing!” Fur rising, Mistwalk set Rabbitkit down and dashed from the burrow.

Menzel was being backed up against the stone ridge while the Ruler, It and the Enforcer cut off her exits. She hissed at them only to flinch backward when the Ruler stepped toward her. Featherfall watched all this from a few fox-lengths away, her expression blank.

Mistwalk had to do something. “Wait,” she said, as if she’d just figured it out, “Ruler, you’re not thinking of mating with this soft kittypet, are you?” She hissed scornfully at Menzel. “Your kits will be useless.”

The Ruler snarled at Mistwalk. “And you think you’re worthy of me? None of you fucking are!” His gaze flicked back to Menzel. “Of course, there are degrees of worthiness.... Enforcer, you can have this one.”

The Enforcer blinked. “Huh?” He eyed his brother. “Really?”

Menzel darted for the Thunderpath. The Ruler tripped her. Screeching, she thrashed and tried to claw him, but the Enforcer pinned her down. He could only use one paw, and held his injured paw up awkwardly. If Menzel could just overbalance him....

“Papa?” Rabbitkit had stopped beside Mistwalk.

The Ruler stared at his son, blinking. This was one of the few times he’d seen him outside of the nursery burrow.

“Don’t touch me, you evil dog-hearts!” Menzel yowled.

The Ruler whirled on her, fur bristled and gaze furious.

This must be deeper than his usual fury; the Enforcer intervened. “You said—” he began, but a glare from his brother stopped him. The Enforcer sighed. “Nevermind.”

“Don’t look,” Mistwalk whispered to Rabbitkit. He stared wide-eyed as his father ripped a bloody chunk of flesh and fur off of Menzel’s side. He bit her again and again, spraying the snow with red as Menzel screamed. Eventually, Mistwalk had to close her eyes and flatten her ears. She curled her tail around Rabbitkit and prayed he’d look away. She could feel him trembling.

“It,” the Ruler said when Menzel’s screams were getting weaker, “you know what to do.”

After that, the only sound was the three greys panting and a crow cawing in a branch above. _So much blood._ The stench reminded her of Whisperstar’s death—her murder—that terrible greenleaf day.

“Disrespect cannot be tolerated.” The Ruler sounded weary. “This was the price of disrespect, That. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Rabbitkit mumbled.

“Good, good.” The crow cawed again, and he added, “Let’s set the flat-face out for the birds.”

When nobody gave her an order, Mistwalk staggered back to the nursery burrow, her mind full of meadow grasses and yowls of pain. Shivering, she curled up in her nest. In her mind, Whisperstar became Menzel, who became Larkflight, who became Fireweedclaw. She only realized she wasn’t alone when she heard, “Mama, what’s ‘disrespect’?”

As Rabbitkit stared at her anxiously, pawsteps sounded near the burrow. _Featherfall?_ Her heart leapt—but whoever was outside the burrow didn’t come in. It must be one of the greys on guard. She’d have to answer carefully. “It means not doing what the Ruler says.”

Rabbitkit burrowed into her side. “You won’t disrespect, right?”

“It’s ‘be disrespectful,’ dear.” She curled her tail around him. “And don’t worry. Nothing will take me away from you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mama.” One of his ears swivelled to the burrow entrance; loudly, he added, “But not as much as the Ruler.”

A kit should be pouncing on beetles and daydreaming of becoming an apprentice. Mistwalk just managed not to sigh. “Good boy,” she murmured then began grooming him. Fear would help him survive the Ruler. She’d teach him courage later. Somehow.


	20. Raising Rabbitkit

Not long after the Ruler murdered Menzel, he started telling Rabbitkit stories. “The bear looked at me and snarled, its breath reeking of dead flesh.”

“What’s a bear?” Rabbitkit asked, his eyes, now a duller blue, shining.

“It’s like a fox, but bigger than a monster."

In his story, the Ruler fought and killed the bear and ate his flesh for moons on end. Mistwalk forced herself to keep her ears perked and eyes wide so she wouldn’t give her thoughts away.

The foothill clans knew bears. In greenleaf, bears often gorged themselves on the raspberries in MeadowClan’s territory. Sometimes, one would catch wind of MeadowClan’s nursery. Generations ago, Asterstar had built an escape tunnel into the nursery; Featherfall’s ancestor, Snowfall, had brilliantly added false nurseries, stuffed with old bedding from the true nursery, to further deceive the bears.

A cat could trick a bear, if they were lucky, but a cat couldn’t fight them. One might as well fight a moose or a hawk on the wing. But how was a kit to know what was true and what wasn’t?

“That was so brave,” Rabbitkit said. “Like when Mama got the plants from the Longpaw Plant Den!”

The Ruler blinked at Rabbitkit then glanced at her. Mistwalk forced herself to breathe normally, though her heart rate sped up.

“Grabbing a few plants from a Longpaw den isn’t as brave as fighting a bear,” she said. _But at least it’s a true story._

“Mama travelled for days and days, and there were the coyotes, and the Longpaws tried to catch her—”

“I’m sure Papa doesn’t need to hear—”

“—but she covered herself in dirt to hide her white fur and then she grabbed all the plants and walked back in a blizzard and saved lots of cats who were sick.”

“I didn’t walk back in a blizzard, That. It was just a bit of snow.” _And I didn’t save enough cats._ In hindsight, such a failed quest shouldn’t have earned her a medicine cat name, but the medicine cats of MountainClan and ForestClan, Twilightstream and Martenlight, had probably taken pity on the poor apprentice who’d watched her mentor, Seedshine, die.

The Ruler _mrrow_ ed. “Kits will believe anything, won’t they?”

Inwardly, Mistwalk bristled. Rabbitkit looked between the two of them, confused, until his expression cleared. “Oh. You mean Mama faked her story, right?”

“It’s called lying, son.” His gaze lingered on her. “What else has she told you?”

She’d told her son stories of StarClan, who watched all and gave wisdom and prophecies; of brave, cunning, wise cats who lived on the meadow; of a warrior code that guided all cats and kept the Clans in balance. With the Enforcer feverish in the medicine den, the guard schedule for the burrow had become irregular. She’d used every stolen moment to fill Rabbitkit’s mind with something good.

The Ruler kept Menzel’s green collar as a toy for Rabbitkit. Once, her son had cringed when he saw it. Now, he pounced on it as if it were nothing more significant than a feather or an acorn. She couldn’t let evil become commonplace.

Had she told Rabbitkit that these were secret stories, not to repeat to his father? Mistwalk couldn’t remember. She tried to look unconcerned, though she fought to keep her claws sheathed and her fur flat.

“I dunno.” Rabbitkit flicked his tail dismissively. “Nothing as great as killing a giant bear and eating it. What else did you do, Papa?”

It was the perfect thing to say; the Ruler beamed and started in on some other tale of glory. Mistwalk relaxed. At a particularly violent cough from the medicine den, she checked on the Enforcer. The teeth marks on his paw were still swollen and leaking pus, but with no more supplies all she could do was keep the wound covered. It hadn’t worsened from when she checked this morning, at least.

He was mumbling to himself again. Mistwalk had overheard some interesting things from the usually stoic tom. She would have listened now, but Featherfall passed by, heading for her nest.

“How’s the prey running today, Shorthair?” Mistwalk asked. 

Irritably, her Clanmate jerked her muzzle toward the empty fresh-kill pile. Another “grumpy belly day,” as she and Rabbitkit called days they went hungry.

Mistwalk peered at Featherfall’s large ears. “Are you keeping warm? You’re a greenleaf hunter, after all.”

Only when Featherfall glared at Mistwalk did she realize her mistake.

In MeadowClan, shorthairs were exempt from hunting in the coldest moons of leaf-bare, where the harsh winds of the meadow made even longhairs shiver. In return, they hunted in the hottest days of greenleaf when longhairs were uncomfortably hot.

Most shorthairs hated the system. No cat wanted to be accused of not helping their Clan—particularly when some longhairs used the hunting exemption to call shorthairs lazy.

“I—I just meant—your ears are vulnerable to—” Mistwalk stammered.

With a snort, Featherfall turned away. _The one time she actually hears me is the one time I bring up the worst of MeadowClan. Fool!_ She’d gotten so used to saying anything that crossed her mind to Featherfall just to get a moment’s conversation with her. With a sigh, Mistwalk slunk back to the burrow.

Eventually, the Ruler left and posted no guards. They were alone. Since they had no prey, she nursed Rabbitkit, though his teeth made her wince.

He stayed curled beside her. He was rather clumsy for a two-moon-old kit, and all it had taken was one comment from the Ruler to make him self-conscious about running and playing. “Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Monsters are really big. Can a cat kill something bigger than a monster?”

Mistwalk paused before saying, “Anything’s possible.”

“Is there _really_ a StarClan?”

“Of course there is. I’ve been there myself and talked to our ancestors.”

For the first time, he looked away and didn’t excitedly ask for a story. A chill shot down her spine. He had to believe her. He had to. “Do you want to hear about Lightningleap again?”

“Sure, I guess.” She could tell he wasn’t interested.

Mistwalk forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. This was but a moment. Kits changed their minds all the time. If she repeated the truth enough times, it would become a part of him.

“The sky was dark with clouds when your mother’s mother was born. The clouds had gathered since that morning, but they spat out only flashes of lightning in the distance....”


	21. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Reference to rape

The Enforcer’s paw was still too sore to hunt, though his fever had broken. That was the only reason Featherfall and Mistwalk were sent out to hunt together.

If only Mistwalk would actually hunt.

They were in the Abandoned Twoleg Kitplace, and she kept stopping to glance at the aspen grove.

Catching Featherfall’s glare, Mistwalk said, “Sorry. I just keep worrying that It and Rabbitkit will run out onto the Thunderpath. Not that we see many monsters, but it’s a good habit to instill young.”

Featherfall should have known she was fussing over the kit. Since Meadowkit’s death, Rabbitkit was all she cared about.

There would be more for her to care for, soon enough.

“The Ruler raped me on our last hunting trip,” Featherfall said matter-of-factly.

 _This time_ , she’d thought in the moment, _I’ll die rather than submit_. But the kittypet had died so slowly, thrashing and yowling, the snow turning red with her blood. Submission meant she wouldn’t lose her life, wouldn’t almost lose her paw or her ear.

So she’d submitted. Her body wanted to live. Her body wanted the kits to live.

Featherfall hated her body.

“Oh, Featherfall, I’m so sor—”

“Don’t be. You’re next.” 

Shivering, Mistwalk nodded, her gaze focusing on the far distance. “At least…well, it’ll be new-leaf when the kits are born.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s a better time than leaf-bare.”

Was there room for anything else in that empty head of hers? Featherfall turned away, trying to catch the skitter of small claws as mice and voles ran through their tunnels in the snow.

“I hope I’m in heat when it happens,” Mistwalk rambled, ears back and fur rising. “It’s almost bearable, then. I can pretend it’s some Clan tom on top of me. Well, for a heartbeat or two. Usually before he starts biting. No Clan tom would ever bite so hard.

“Not that I know from experience or anything!” She _mrrow_ ed breathlessly. “But I never passed out any painkilling herbs after a wailing walk.”

What was she was babbling on about?

“Er, you know, a wailing walk?” Mistwalk said, confused.

Slowly, Featherfall remembered: in the foothill Clans, she-cats usually left their home Clans to seek a sire for their kits. It was either that or let a brother or uncle mount you–which happened from time to time, but wasn’t ideal. When they were in heat, she-cats would walk the border of their territory, yowling, and toms from the nearest Clan would come running. Any kits that resulted were raised in their mother’s Clan.

“Goodness, and I thought I had a bad memor—” Mistwalk stopped herself. “That was unkind of me. I’m sorry. I should…I should just stop talking.”

Of course, she didn’t. Instead, she looked thoughtfully at Featherfall and said, “I find what helps me remember things is reviewing one or two things before I go to sleep and one or two things the moment I wake up. You should listen to the stories I tell Rabbitkit. Hearing them might help!”

Featherfall looked away. She’d never appreciated MeadowClan. She’d been too shy, too quiet. That she was forgetting the one good part of her life was just what she deserved.

“Featherfall, don’t give up.” Mistwalk stepped toward her, eyes round with sympathy.

What world was the deluded fool living in? How could she say that, after everything they’d been through? He would mount them, again and again, for seasons, until they died birthing more evil. Featherfall bared her teeth, snarling softly.

But Mistwalk still kept talking. “So much has changed! The Enforcer is lame, I’ve become very good friends with It…. He can’t rule forever. He won’t! Remember the burnt branch—”

She struck Mistwalk. She hadn’t meant to unsheathe her claws, but they were anyway. Mistwalk stared at her, eyes wide, a hint of blood marring her white muzzle. She lifted her paw, claws extended, as if to fight or flee.

“I hope you’re not in heat when he rapes you,” Featherfall snarled. “I hope it hurts you just as much as it did me. I hope your fox-hearted kits die in your womb and he leaves the bodies for the crows.”

Slowly, Mistwalk set her paw down. She lashed her tail a few times, but made no other motion to run or attack. It was so easy, to attack someone who wouldn’t attack back.

Featherfall turned away. In vain, she tried to hunt. When pawsteps sounded behind her, she tensed, expecting claws. It was strangely satisfying, to see her Clanmate become like everyone else.

Mistwalk hissed, “You don’t get to give up! That’s an order from your medicine cat, Featherfall.

“Maybe you don’t remember, but I do: when I was sulking after Seedshine mocked me, you licked my ear.”

In the beginning, Seedshine had hated Mistwalk. He’d maintained she belonged as a queen in the nursery, not in the medicine cat den. It had taken a full season with no apprentice and three dreams of him wandering through morning mist for him to accept her, and he showed his displeasure. “Wrong again!” he’d snarl at a terrified Mistpaw. “You just killed your Clan, fluff-head!” 

Once, they’d thought “fluff-head” and “fool” were harsh words. How stupid they’d been.

“That wasn’t anything,” Featherfall muttered. She hadn’t done much to help; it had taken moons of arguments from Whisperstar and Featherfall and Mistwalk’s mothers for Seedshine to gentle his teaching style. “Seedshine was my uncle. That’s the only reason I—”

“It doesn’t matter why. What matters is you saw me hurting and you helped. That cat is still inside you. Only you get to take that away from you—the Ruler can’t! No one can but you!”

Featherfall couldn’t find a response. Her rage had sputtered out, leaving her exhausted. _If she wants to waste her energy caring for the whole world, let her._

Mistwalk’s ears lowered as she looked into Featherfall’s eyes. “Could you listen when I teach Rabbitkit, even just once?”

Nothing mattered. Why shouldn’t she pretend to listen? It wouldn’t change the kits growing inside her. It wouldn’t change that she hadn’t fought to defend the stupid kittypet. It wouldn’t change her Clanmate’s deluded quest. “All right.”

Mistwalk nuzzled her. The whiff of blood on her Clanmate’s muzzle made her flinch. 

She wished she could promise herself that, at the very least, she’d never hurt Mistwalk again. But what was the point?


	22. Falling Slowly

 

  


The Ruler was hunting, which meant his sunning spot was free. Maybe if That kept the Enforcer away from his sunning spot, Papa would let That have second pick of the fresh-kill pile. He was sick of being hungry all the time.

That was on the way to the sunning spot when he tripped. With a huff, he started to get up.

But he couldn’t. His paws would only go where he put them after a few tries. When he tried to lift himself up, he lost his balance. He hit the snowy ground again.

Pawsteps sounded behind him—heavy pawsteps. His entire body felt as cold as if he’d run through a snowdrift.

The Enforcer glared at him as he padded by. Ever since his fever, he always glared at That.

“Seriously? Get the fuck up.” His injured paw slammed into That’s side. Breath flew from his lungs and his ears were ringing.

“Hurt me and you’ve hurt the Ruler, asshole!” He spat and lashed his tail, but what did any of that matter when he couldn’t even stand?

The Enforcer just mrrowed, amused. “Until you get a name, you’re nothing.”

It was hard not to snarl back, ‘I have a name!’ Rabbitkit was his secret name; Papa would hate it if he heard it. And it wasn’t a name that would impress the Enforcer—why couldn’t Shorthair have named him Monsterkit or Blizzardkit? “I’m the Ruler’s son.”

“I could claw you apart like that mouse the other day and your ‘Papa’ would forget you were even here."

That shuddered. Papa had brought a live mouse to teach That how to hunt, but after That missed his first pounce, Papa had shown him how to kill prey properly. Prey tasted better when it was afraid, Papa said; That didn’t know, since Papa ate the mouse instead of him. The mouse had screamed and screamed, just like the kittypet.

The Enforcer turned around, leaving That to struggle to his paws. The world tilted; he stumbled again. What was wrong with him?

Mama trotted over to him. “Oh dear! What are we hiding from? A bear? A coyote?” She crouched over him. “I’ll hide you, my little love.”

“This isn’t a stupid game! I can’t get up, but I’m trying!”

“Oh.” Mama stood up, glancing around. “Let’s get to the burrow.” He leaned against her, wobbling and weaving, unable to set his paws down right.

The nursery burrow was dark, warm, and smelled like him, Mama and Shorthair, who came to listen to Mama sometimes when she was telling stories. That hated when Shorthair interrupted them. Mama always talked to her, even though she never said anything, and no matter what That said, it was like Mama forgot he existed. Sometimes, when Shorthair came to the burrow after playing with Papa, she glared at That like Papa had glared at the kittypet. Mama told him to be patient with Shorthair, but why should That be nice to someone who hated him?

“Just breathe,” Mama said. “Try to relax. Shhh. I’m here for you. I’ll always protect you.” Her tail stroked along his back.

But he couldn’t relax or breathe. Mama thought this was serious enough to hide him, so it must be bad. Was he going to be the new It, scarred and cringing and laughing way too loud at Papa’s jokes even when they weren’t funny?

He tried, but his body didn’t care what he wanted. His body lurched, his legs getting tangled up.

“Am I dying?”

“No, my heart. This happened to a cat of ForestClan many generations ago. She didn’t die of it.”

“Did she get better?” Mama could fix anything with her plants. She could go to the Twoleg Plant Den, where plants grew even in leaf-bare, and get something to help him.

“I’ll tell the Ruler you’ve got water-dung. He’s so paranoid about disease, he’ll keep you quarantined for a moon, I imagine. Maybe more. Hmm, I could mix some water with your dung to make it look more realistic....”

“Mama, did she get better?”

“A Clan looks after the sick and the elderly, and ForestClan did their duty by her.”

That’s fur rose. _He_ didn’t want to be sick or elderly. He wanted to be a great hunter and kill bears and dogs and make sure everybody got prey all the time. “Mama! Did she—”

Mama sighed and looked at him so sadly that he knew the truth before she said, “No, my heart. She didn’t.”

He’d never be a warrior. He’d never hunt prey. He’d never make Papa proud and earn a real name.

“Is StarClan punishing me?” Yesterday, he’d gotten so mad at It, who always wanted to play silly nursery games, that he’d clawed at his uncle’s face. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten so angry.

“No. StarClan doesn’t punish. They watch and they guide, but they don’t have that kind of power.”

Papa bit the kittypet to death. Mama was right; StarClan didn’t punish.

Mewling like a newborn, That buried his face in Mama’s side.


	23. The Rescue

 

  


Though his paw had healed, the Enforcer used it as an excuse to laze about while any hunting partner except the Ruler did most of the work. Fewer hunters meant less prey, but when did logic matter to one of the greys? The Ruler and the Enforcer always ate.

As Mistwalk hunted in the copse of pine trees, snarls split the cold night from where the Enforcer had been lying down, watching her.

Mistwalk whirled around to see a beige, faintly-striped tabby on the Enforcer’s back, trying to keep a grip as the Enforcer thrashed and twisted beneath him. The strange tom was thrown clear in a heartbeat. The Enforcer pounced on him; the tom scrambled back quickly enough to avoid being pinned, but yelped as the Enforcer’s claws caught his tail.

Glancing at Mistwalk, the stranger said, “I’m here to rescue—” before the Enforcer’s attack forced him to devote all his attention to ducking blows.

Mistwalk stepped toward the fighting toms, claws out. _StarClan must have provided this chance._

_Though they could have provided a better fighter._ This tom was no warrior; he was constantly on the defensive. If the Enforcer’s paw had been whole, the stranger wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Rabbitkit was in camp with the Ruler. He could only move steadily now and then; she couldn’t rely on him being able to run if attacked. Even if she and this tom could make the Enforcer turn tail, what would the Ruler do to Rabbitkit if he sensed anything amiss? Would It side with her or his brother? Would Featherfall be present enough to fight or would she just stare?

There were too many unknowns.

Arching her back, she hissed, “Get out of here! I don’t need rescuing.”

“What?” The tabby tom took a blow from the Enforcer’s massive paw and staggered. “Ooof!” He just avoided the bite the Enforcer tried to land. “But I—”

At a snarl from the Enforcer, he fled, though he glanced back at Mistwalk. He ran for the Twolegplace. Mistwalk would have assumed he came from there if she didn’t catch a hint of the barn in his scent trail.

“Shit,” the Enforcer grumbled after sniffing after her would-be rescuer. “That’s hay. Shit.” He rested his weight on his three uninjured paws, panting heavily.

She’d always wondered why the Ruler ignored the barn cats. In the moon after the Ruler bit the Enforcer’s paw, when he’d lain feverish and babbling in the medicine den, she’d gotten a possible answer: their mother had come from the barn. As the eldest kit, the Enforcer probably had good memories of that place. He’d likely kept the Ruler from attacking the barn in countless subtle ways.

“We don’t have to tell him where the rogue came from, do we?” Mistwalk asked.

The giant gray tom grunted, unconvinced.

Was this time to intervene? If it wasn’t.... Her muscles tightened in anticipation of a blow. She forced herself to inhale deeply. _What’s a blow or two? I shouldn’t have to, but I can bear it. He’s always been healthy and strong, but this past moon he hasn’t. Sickness can change a lot._

She started the conversation she’d been planning for moons. “Enforcer, why are you so loyal to him? If there ever was a time he deserved it, that ended when he hurt you.”

Suddenly, her cheek ached with the remembered pain of Featherfall clawing her. The rest of her words faded. Her situation was entirely different than the Enforcer’s. Featherfall was good, deep down. She was just hurting so much right now. Anyone would lash out.

He snorted. “Stop pretending you give a shit.”

“I don’t want anyone to be hurt. That includes you and that includes the barn cats.” She hesitated, then said, “Caring for all cats is my calling, given to me by the colony I came from.”

Something she’d said made him blink in surprise then _mrrow_. “You’re stuck taking care of everyone because of some promise you made to some dead cats?” She’d mentioned to It that her Clan had died of sickness—obviously, he’d told the tale to his brothers.

Mistwalk took a moment to think over the word ‘stuck.’ The Enforcer had told her during his fever that he’d promised his mother he’d protect his middle brother no matter what happened. Perhaps he’d deluded himself into thinking the same things about the Ruler that she thought about Featherfall.

“You think I’m stupid,” the Enforcer said, placid and matter-of-fact as ever. “If I left, you’d have your fangs in his throat before my scent faded.”

“No! Of course not!” She thought of killing the Ruler more than she’d like, but it was nothing she planned on or hoped for. Those thoughts were pure revenge and rage.

He turned away from her. “Cats do shit they never thought they’d do all the time.”

She was losing him. Moons of forcing herself to be pleasant to the fox-hearted brute, nursing him back to health, never complaining when he stole food from Rabbitkit’s mouth…. Wasted. Gone. Closing her eyes, she inhaled cold, snowflake-heavy air. _This is my one chance. See through his eyes. Find a way._

“There is so much more to the world than he’ll ever let you see, Enforcer. You could have a life without him. Without pain. Without being ruled by his whims. No cat deserves that.”

Now, he outright laughed. “Just when I think you can’t really be that dog-brained.... The first day we met, I would’ve killed you if he told me to.” His ears flicked back in annoyance. “But, yeah, keep telling me about the happy life I ‘deserve.’”

“That’s his path, but you can forge a new one!” She stepped toward him. “It’s terrifying, I know. The shadows feel deeper on your own, the wind colder. But isn’t anything better than wondering when the next blow will fall?

“I know you. You’re not a bad cat. You’ve kept your promise to your mother to protect your family as well as anyone could.”

The Enforcer blinked in surprise. “I told you—?” He bared his teeth. “That fucking fever. Whatever. You’ve been here three seasons, but I’ve been here three winters. Don’t think you know shit.”

“I know being a mother, and I know no mother would expect her kit to bear what you have. Enforcer, if you leave, we’ll bear his latest kits and disappear once they’re old enough to travel. No one needs to be hurt.” Suddenly, she recalled one of the points she’d meant to raise earlier. “You could have kits of your own. He was taunting you, saying he’d give you the kittypet. He’ll never let you have that.”

A flame kindled in his blue eyes. He stepped toward her. She caught her breath. Had she gotten through to him?

He joked, “Will you let me have you?”

The thought shocked a _mrrow_ out of her. When he stepped back, eyes narrowing, she realized he’d been more serious than she’d assumed.

“Me?” she repeated. She should be flirting, purring and cooing and rubbing herself against him. But she was still sore from when the Ruler had entered her a day ago. Her legs and tail were stone, her voice a shocked squeak when she stammered “Ah....”

He turned from her with a snort. “Go spray our borders by the barn.” His tone brooked no argument. She stumbled away, trying to coax her mind into accepting this surprise. _If I just said I’d come find him once we escaped, he might even help us. I don’t have to keep the promise, I just have to say the words...._

She sprayed the fence posts, suntrees and clumps of grass along the border. When she returned to the copse of pine trees, the scent of the Enforcer’s urine covered any hint of the tabby tom’s scent.

From his glare as she approached, he was in no mood to listen to her. “Don’t say a word about the barn.”

“Of course. Enforcer—”

He walked away as if he hadn’t heard.

_One stupid, surprised mrrow and I lost everything._ Head bowed, Mistwalk trudged after him.


	24. Stolen

  


It was going to find his brother if he had to fight every Longpaw and monster in Longpawhome.

The Ruler had woken everyone at dawn to tell them that Longpaws had stolen the Enforcer. He’d taken forever figuring out search parties, but Longhair helped him realize that the Ruler and Shorthair should search together, since he could protect her if any predators attacked a pregnant she-cat, which left Longhair to search with That and show him the territory.

(She’d protested when the Ruler ordered That to help search. He’d hit her, of course, five times with claws out because he was so mad about his brother being stolen. Longhair was great, but sometimes she was really stupid.)

Glancing at It, Longhair had said, “In my old colony, brave warriors went on long hunts, not returning for days at a time. Perhaps It could go on a long hunt, my love?”

The Ruler nodded. “About time you tried to prove yourself, It. You’ll go to Longpawhome.”

It didn’t know why they weren’t all going to Longpawhome—where else would Longpaws take the Enforcer? He didn’t know why there was no scent of Longpaws in or near the aspen grove. He didn’t know how a kit of five moons could help track when he’d never even gone on a real hunt. But It didn’t need to know these things.

His paws flew over the frosty ground. He was going to be rewarded for finding the Enforcer. The Ruler always said rulers were generous with their subjects.

* * *

 

The Enforcer’s paw was throbbing as he trotted along the Stonetrail to Longpawhome. Dawn wasn’t too far away. The hard ground of Longpawhome would only make the pain worse. At least at the nest back in the aspen grove, the pain would dim enough that he could sleep.

“The Law protects us,” his brother had said long ago. It’d protect him for one more night. The Enforcer could leave tomorrow, when he was feeling better.

_Unless a fucking bird chirps too loud one morning or whatever pisses him off these days. He’s getting worse._ Taking in she-cats and having kits had been just as disastrous as the Emforcer had always thought it would.

There’d be food in the Cat Gardens–maybe not this late, but Longpaws always brought food for their slaves eventually. He forced himself to take another step.

* * *

“Haven’t seen or smelled anyone, Stripes.” The white rogue with brown spots looked down at It from the Play Den in the Cat Gardens.

It hissed and spat, but the rogue ignored him. The Enforcer had been here last night, at least. It had hoped the Longpaws would take him there, though he didn’t know why they did. When It and Mom had been captured, the Longpaws hadn’t taken them to the Gardens. They’d separated them and kept them in those small dens of shining sticks that they couldn’t escape from. Maybe there were different groups of Longpaws who captured cats for different reasons?

Shivering, It tried tracking his brother again. The morning’s gentle snowfall had erased any tracks, so It had to use his nose. The Enforcer had gone to the food bowls then slept in one of the fancy nests, but then he’d left and his scent had been washed away by monster-smoke, Longpaws, dogs, and a host of strange smells It couldn’t identify. He’d forgotten how huge Longpawhome was.

Maybe it was his brothers who made Longpawhome seem smaller and safer.

It paced along the fence, keeping an eye on the Cat Gardens, hoping his brother would come back. Now and then, he sniffed for Mom, but, like an idiot, he’d forgotten her scent.

* * *

In the Cat Gardens, there was a scrap of frozen food in one of the bowls. The Enforcer snapped it up. He didn’t have to see if his brother wanted it first or think about feeding she-cats with kits.

He nudged open the door to the den with the fine, soft nests inside. No one would claw him awake hissing some crazy demand. He could sleep as long as he wanted. His paw didn’t even hurt as bad as he thought it would.

“Fuck the Law,” he said with a purr.

* * *

At noon, a Longpaw noticed It and tried to feed him. They cooed and clicked and set down little crunchy pellets that made It’s mouth water. But It remembered the Longpaws from the Cat Den. Sometimes, they’d fed him food that made him sleepy.

It darted away and hid beneath a bush. A ginger collared slave cat gulped down the pellets. There were a few slaves out—longhairs, mostly—since it wasn’t too cold today. They played or shared tongues, chatting.

The ginger cat ran up to a Longpaw and wove between their legs. “Don’t forget, you’re mine,” she purred. “Don’t go too far.”

It found himself so angry his claws slid out. _Stupid slave. Everyone leaves. Everyone!_ With a sigh, he sheathed his claws. _Or maybe they only leave me._

* * *

The Enforcer woke at dawn. The bed he’d slept the night in was covered in the fur of countless cats before him. He rose and shook dead fur into the air, where it drifted down like snowflakes.

_I can still go back. He won’t be too mad. He’s probably falling apart by now._

_Because of the path he chose_ , he reminded himself. _I can choose my own._ Longhair had said something like that after the barn cat attacked him last moon.

His gut twinged at the thought of Longhair’s milk-white fur and round silver eyes. He’d miss her. But she wasn’t the only she-cat in the world. It was time to mount a few of them.

When the greys had lived in Longpawhome, they’d frequented the Cat Gardens. Anybody would know to look for him here. Time to disappear from their usual haunts for a while.

He stepped into the snow and walked further into Longpawhome.

* * *

It waited all day then slept at the Cat Garden all night. He knew he should explore more of Longpawhome. He’d searched for days for Mom, walking until his paw pads cracked, flinching every time a monster roared or a dog barked, searching until he was so hungry he had to eat grass to get something in his belly. 

But he’d been younger when he lost Mom; now, he was a grown cat, with responsibilities. He had to help look after That and the unborn kits.

He trudged home, his paws scraping the ground. Nobody had found the Enforcer.

At least the Ruler didn’t punish It for not finding him. Since It’s return, the Ruler had been grooming himself from nose to tail-tip. Each swipe of his tongue was long and leisurely. He’d be thorough, with no patch of fur untouched. He always did that when he was really, really upset.

It watched from one of the ledges surrounding the grove, quivering. That had gone back to the nursery burrow and didn’t want to play. All It could do was knead his claws into the cold ground, an old habit from kithood.

Longhair approached him. Her paws and belly fur were wet and muddy from all the walking she’d done. It’s were, too, but it was much less noticeable on his grey fur. “I’m so sorry about your brother, It.”

“The Longpaws captured me once. Why don’t they take me again?” His voice was rising. He couldn’t disturb the Ruler, so he breathed deep and spoke more quietly. “What was so terrible about me that they didn’t want me? If they’d kept me, maybe they wouldn’t have taken him.”

Her tail stroked along his back. “No cat knows why Longpaws do what they do. Try not to think that way. Would you like to share tongues? We can clean ourselves up, at least. It might make us feel a bit better.”

That was Longhair being dumb again. Nothing would make It feel better. His big brother was gone and everything had changed.

But he nodded, and closed his eyes as her tongue began to rasp over his head.


	25. The Name You Earn

## 

At a yowl from the nursery, That stood. He managed—for now. His clumsy spells were lasting longer and longer.

The fresh-kill pile was empty, and Shorthair’s kits were coming.

That left the medicine den, remembering to limp because Longhair had told the Ruler he’d cut his paw so he could lie down and hide his latest spell behind a screen of dried heather.

The Ruler paced in front of the nursery entrance, tail lashing. Seeing That, he froze then tried to speak but only muttered unintelligibly. Since the Enforcer had been stolen a half-moon ago, the Ruler could barely complete anything he set out to do—except attacks on his family. That’s cheek and neck still hurt from a blow yesterday, punishment for cutting his paw.

The Ruler shook his head, then tried again. “You.” Sometimes, That wondered if his father had forgotten his name. “You and It go fish the beach.”

Yesterday, he’d forbidden hunting near any Longpaw-touched places such as the beach, even demanding they not hunt in their usual territory of the Abandoned Kitplace and the monsteryard. But that was yesterday’s orders. That bowed his head. “Yes, Papa.”

Dried grass and crumbling leaves pressed against his paw pads with each step. Here and there, tufts of bright green grass poked through. Purple irises and crocuses had started to bloom. They weren’t good for curing sickness or anything useful, but they were pretty. That had never dreamed the world could be so colourful.

It trotted over to That, tail stump twitching. “Is the kit here yet?” 

“Shorthair’s got two,” That reminded him. “Longhair’s got just one. And they’ll be okay if we can get their mothers some fresh-kill.”

“Oh? The pile’s empty?”

That just managed not to bare his teeth. The Ruler and It were so sunk in their own heads to pay attention to anything, and Longhair and Shorthair were too busy with kits and whispering stupid stories about dead cats to each other to see beyond the nursery burrow. _If I were healthy, everyone would have food. If only…._

A Longpaw was walking along the beach. It hissed and ducked behind That, shivering. The Longpaw had a long stick and used it to pick up trash and put it into a big, shining bag that flapped in the cold wind coming off the water. Though It hissed “Let’s go!” That stayed and watched. The Longpaw didn’t seem interested in them.

“How about you watch them while I fish, then I’ll keep watch while you fish?” That said. It whined a lot but eventually agreed.

That enjoyed the hunt, the flex of his muscles under his control, his paws going where he wanted them to even if he was always too slow to catch fish. When a light rain came down, the hunting got even worse. He was so cold his whiskers were almost icicles, but inside he was overflowing with warmth.

It was a much better fisher, and caught two whole minnows. Their stomachs rumbled at the sight of them.

“My mouth’s watering so much the fish might just slip down my throat by accident!” It joked. That _mrrow_ ed and licked his uncle’s ear. To his surprise, It full-on nuzzled him, licking frantically at his ears and forehead for a few moments.

Stepping back, It said, “Sorry! It’s just, I should’ve told the Enforcer how important he was to me, and now he’s gone.” He was quivering with the intensity of his feelings, as usual. “You’re my best friend.”

That hadn’t always been kind to It, especially when he was younger. He’d clawed at him, teased him, and ignored him. Now, he was five moons old, and he was old enough to wish he’d been a better friend. “I love you, Uncle.”

It blinked at him. “Well, let’s not get weird about it.”

That bit back a sigh. How did anyone in this family even know what weird was? The two cats took the minnows in their mouths and started back.

That was halfway back to the aspen grove when he missed a step. _No. Breathe. Breathe. Pull it together. I’m almost home…._

It hurried over, setting the fish down. “Your paw?”

“Y—yeah. It, the kits will need food soon. Take the fish—I’ll catch up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you back!” It snatched up the fish and ran behind the ridges that hid the aspen grove from the view of the beach.

That struggled to walk. First he listed to the left then he staggered to the right. Once he was standing, the world whirled in front of him. Closing his eyes, he took a step. He lurched to the side and fell again.

He’d only been able to move a few tail-lengths toward the aspen grove when It appeared over the ridge. His uncle let That lean against him; That’s paws made him zigzag awkwardly to It’s side.

“Is Papa at camp?” That asked.

“Nope. He’s out hunting.” As It spoke, he watched That, who hissed in frustration. At this point, no amount of limping could disguise his wobbly, stiff-legged gait with his hindlegs spread absurdly wide. “The kits are here, though! They’re both alive, but they’re really new—still wet! So, um, what’s wrong?”

“This just happens to me sometimes.” That’s ears flattened. “It, please don’t tell Papa.”

“Of course not! Best friends keep each other’s secrets!”

That wished he could believe his uncle.

* * *

It seemed to keep his word. He said nothing when the Ruler returned, empty-mouthed. That returned to the medicine den. The next day, he would have gone hunting, but he still couldn’t move in a straight line.

Longhair had said his spells would probably get worse. Now they were lasting for days. He clawed at the dried grass of his nest in frustration, watching the new-leaf come to the grove. Juncos and chickadees sang in the trees. Once, a scrawny grey squirrel leapt from branch to branch. His uncle ran by and the squirrel chittered an alarm call.

All morning, It updated That on the kits: one was a grey she-cat with white and orange spots and one was a grey tom with darker grey stripes. They were suckling strongly, Longhair said. That asked about his mother; It shrugged and said, “She’s okay, I guess.”

At sun-high, It came bounding over with the Ruler following, a small mouse in his jaws. The Ruler’s tail was up and his ears perked. He hadn’t looked so happy, or so steady, since the Enforcer left. 

The Ruler set the mouse down in front of That. “It’s time things got back to normal around here. But for that, we need a new Enforcer.”

“Congratulations,” That said to It.

It giggled and his father mrrowed. “Being the Enforcer requires actual brains,” the Ruler said. “You’ve got brains, son. Not only that, you’ve got heart. You’d do anything to protect your family. That’s the most important thing: loyalty. It’s the only thing that matters.”

That struggled to think of how to react. He bowed his head, stammering, “I—I can’t accept this honour, Papa….”

Cheerfully, the Ruler said, “Oh, you can and you will!”

That flinched as his father licked his forehead. He didn’t want the Ruler’s fangs so close to the back of his neck. He tried to breathe evenly, but he couldn’t stop his fur from rising.

The Ruler must have noticed, but he didn’t find anything suspicious. “Enjoy your meal, son. We’ll do some hunting later today.”

“Yes, Pa—I mean, yes, Ruler.”

His yellow eyes half-lidded with pleasure, the Ruler left the medicine den.

“It, I’m so sorry—”

“Oh, don’t be. Why would I want to be the Enforcer?” He shuddered. “Ugh, that’s way too much pressure! You’ll be a great Enforcer. You’re everything the Ruler said you were and more!” He glanced at the mouse. “Can I have that? Please?”

That covered the mouse with his paw. He could do that, at least. The warrior code said that elders, queens and kits must be fed before apprentices and warriors. “It, the queens need this more than either of us.”

“But with a mouse in my belly, I can catch ten mice for them!”

“And what if we can’t? You don’t want the kits to get sick, do you? Then who’d play with you?”

It drew back, startled. “Um, you will. Right? That’s what best friends do.” He began kneading the ground with his extended claws. “I’d hate for us not to be best friends. Because then I’d only have the Ruler to talk to and…well, who knows what I’d tell him?”

When That was a kit, he’d wanted to be grown up. Now that he was older, he wanted to be a kit playing in the nursery burrow. That choked back a yowl. Drawing on his anger, he bared his fangs and said, “You can have half.”

It ripped the mouse apart and gulped half down heartbeats after That lifted his paw. That tried to rise, but found himself sprawled on his haunches. It watched with interest.

That tried for the Enforcer’s tone of bored irritation, but instead he snarled, “Now take this to the queens! I’ll hear if you don’t!”

“Of course, Enforcer!” It said cheerfully. They both knew an empty threat when they heard one.

Sighing, That watched It bound out of the medicine den. _I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry._


	26. Back in the Burrow

The kits kept wailing. Featherfall was so hungry that she’d lost her milk yesterday, two days after their birth. She was glad she hadn’t named them.

Somehow, they’d survived the night. Their cries were weaker, but they still rang in her ears, loud as battle-screams, loud enough to fill the burrow and mask the gurgling of empty stomachs. 

Yesterday, Mistwalk had caught two beetles, and she and Featherfall chewed them into paste to force down the kits’ throats. The kits had swallowed some, but most they spat up. They needed milk, not bits of wings and shells. But Mistwalk was determined. Mistwalk was in the nursery burrow now, chewing up another beetle, eyes alight as if she’d just received a sign from StarClan. Perhaps this was a sign—aboveground, rain gushed from the sky like blood from a cut artery. What were the odds of catching a beetle in such a downpour?

Featherfall had remembered a story of MeadowClan. It had taken half a day to recall the details—thinking was difficult with hunger and the kits’ cries slicing through her thoughts like a claw. Unlike most remembrances of MeadowClan, she hadn’t shared it with Mistwalk yet.

Generations ago, when the Clans were young, Hawkdive had killed her sickliest kit to stop his suffering and give all her milk to her healthiest kits.. She was exiled once her kits were weaned, and legend had it she’d killed herself in her grief and loneliness. But her actions meant her remaining kits grew well and eventually became great warriors.

Every MeadowClan mother passed the tale to her daughter once she became an apprentice. Featherfall had never wondered why. She wished she’d asked her mother. Had Hawkdive been driven by mercy or madness? Did it matter, when the result was a kit’s death? Was death so terrible if it meant the end of suffering? Every time she thought of the story, she found another unanswerable question.

And the kits kept crying, when they weren’t suckling uselessly at her dry teats. She wished her ears were stopped up, like theirs were. They would probably grow up to be evil, she reminded herself, like Rabbitkit, a lazy thug who clawed his playmate and failed to fill the fresh-kill pile. But they weren’t evil now; they were kits in pain, and she couldn’t help them.

“Here,” Mistwalk murmured around the beetle-paste in her mouth. Featherfall nudged the spotted she-cat away from her teat and let Mistwalk spit the paste into her mouth. The she-cat coughed and spat it up, mewing louder in protest.

“Some of it went down,” Mistwalk said. “It’s just until my milk comes. Could I try nursing them?” She was moving before Featherfall could reply, lying down and nudging the kits to her teats. “I dreamed of my mother last night. My milk will come soon, my dear.” She wrapped her tail around the kits, her thick fur hiding them from view, but Featherfall could still hear them.

With a satisfied nod, Mistwalk asked, “What do you think of naming them Spotkit and Stripekit? They’re a bit dull, but we can always change them when they get older.”

In the foothill clans, the latest trend was to name kits for some interesting or unusual event surrounding their birth. A few days after Featherfall was born, her uncle Seedshine had been hunting when the wind blew a storm of feathers over him from a grouse carcass nearby. With Featherfall being the runt of her litter, the name had fit. Mistwalk was actually named for being born when the meadow was shrouded by fog, not for her white fur. The whole Clan had worked to name kits—which had occasionally led to grudges when someone’s preferred name wasn’t chosen.

Of course, they couldn’t rely on the greys and That to bring them any accurate news of the world beyond the burrow. Physical features were an easy way to name kits. They’d named Rabbitkit for his large ears, after all. Featherfall’s ears flattened—not that she wanted to name these kits. They were corpses that hadn’t realized it yet.

Mistwalk’s ears perked. “Perhaps one of them should be Rainkit. Or...oh, what do you think of Patterkit? You know, the sound of the rain outside while you’re snug and dry? I like that. It’s not too much, is it? If only there were some lightning or thunder, I’d say Stormkit....”

“Let’s name them when your milk comes.”

Mistwalk nodded, but a few moments later she muttered, “The orange on the she-kit is the colour of hawkweed....”

Putting her head on her paws, Featherfall let Mistwalk ramble on. The she-cat’s white and orange spots on her grey body also looked like the pond across the Thunderpath, the water all patchy with lilies in greenleaf. But her father had originally lived by the pond, so perhaps not. The tom’s stripes could be rainwater making paths in the forest floor. Or ripples in the river beyond the aspen grove, but, no, that was Twoleg territory, it wasn’t appropriate. Why not a minnow? Minnows were striped, and they were the last thing the she-cats had eaten, days ago. Wait, no, why hadn’t she seen it before? One of them could be Branchkit, for the burnt branch, their special sign from StarClan. And Lightningkit, to remember Featherfall’s mother.

Featherfall’s fur rose. Something was wrong. She tried to focus beyond Mistwalk’s voice.

The she-kit had stopped crying. Mistwalk carried on as if she hadn’t noticed. Featherfall rose and looked over Mistwalk’s tail. The she-kit had fallen away from Mistwalk’s teat and was lying still. She wasn’t breathing.

All Featherfall could feel was a dull relief. For one kit, the nightmare of starving to death was over.

“We should bury her,” she said.

Her friend didn’t immediately agree—instead, she sniffed the she-kit, nudged her with her muzzle, then groomed her. When the kit didn’t respond to the first few swipes of her tongue, she stopped. “That’s impossible.” She stared at the kit, fur rising, ears going back.

Featherfall’s gaze fell on the tom. He was striped, like It. She didn’t see a hint of herself in him. “Did your mother tell you of Hawkdive?” she asked. Perhaps a medicine cat could answer some of her questions.

Mistwalk’s pupils became gaping ovals surrounded by a thin circle of silver. “That’s—how can you—” Her ears began quivering. “Never speak of that again. _Never_.” She got to her forelegs and crouched protectively over the kits, fangs bared.

Featherfall sat down and glanced away. “He’s dying, Mistwalk. Slowly and painfully, like his sister.”

“He is not,” she hissed. “I swore to StarClan. I—or they swore to me? I can’t remember.” She shook her head. “But I said no more dead kits. What good is a promise if you don’t keep it?”

The earth seemed to shake beneath Featherfall’s paws. Could Mistwalk hear how mad she sounded? No cat could stop death, certainly not two starving she-cats with no medical supplies.

“I dreamed of my mother,” Mistwalk repeated. “That means your kits will survive. I _dreamed_ of her.”

Featherfall opened her mouth to say that one kit was already dead, then closed her mouth. She had to deal with the Ruler every day. She couldn’t deal with Mistwalk’s insanity, too. _Perhaps it’s not insanity. What do I know of StarClan?  
_

Still trembling, Mistwalk began frantically grooming the tom, as if warmth could keep him alive.

Aboveground, a snarl sounded over the pounding rain. The Ruler was upset about something, as usual. A shout of agony followed.

“Mama!” Rabbitkit cried out. The Ruler yowled, sounding angrier than he’d been for some time.

Featherfall ignored it. So did Mistwalk, who mumbled “I dreamed it,” as she groomed the kit.

“Mama! I can’t—” Rabbitkit cut himself off with a scream of agony. But his Mama didn’t stop grooming the newborn. _Strange. He’s usually tougher than that._

When Mistwalk came back to herself, she’d be devastated if anything happened to Rabbitkit. Featherfall had already hurt her friend enough—she could at least check on her firstborn kit. With a hiss of frustration, she left the burrow.


	27. The Burnt Branch

 

 

  


As the new Enforcer screamed for his mother, the Ruler realized his mistake. The Enforcer was a cursed name. The first Enforcer had already betrayed him—of course the second one would, too, with his faking that he couldn’t walk. He should have given his son a new name, untouched by the past.

The Ruler paused, panting, his paws sore from the blows he’d just landed. The black tip of the Enforcer’s right ear was gone; the blood flowed fiercely. He matched his mother, Longhair, now.

“Ruler, please,” the new Enforcer whined, shivering, “I’m not being disrespectful. I want to hunt!”

“I’ll help him, brother!” It babbled, pacing back and forth behind the Ruler.

“It’s just, Papa, I’m sick....”

“Sick?” the Ruler snarled. “Stop lying!”

“I’m not. Papa, please believe me. Sometimes, I—I can’t walk right, but I’m not being disrespectful! All I want to do is help!”

The Ruler screeched him into silence. “Shut up! No son of mine gets sick!”

The Enforcer cringed, staring with wide yellow eyes, the same colour as the Ruler’s. Though his eyes had been blue when he was younger. Blue as the traitor’s eyes. Longhair had said all kits had blue eyes, but the Ruler didn’t remember It’s being that exact shade when he was a kit.

The Ruler’s ears flattened in alarm: Longhair knew all about plants. There were plants to heal whitecough, soothe an upset stomach and clear up infections. Why wouldn’t there be a weed to change a kit’s eye colour yellow?

She could have fed the new Enforcer that weed so easily in their burrow. Why had the Ruler let them have so much time alone? And last moon, when the new Enforcer had been sick with the water shits—had that been real? Or had the sweet-voiced she-cat simply needed time to gather more of the herb and hide his blue eyes from the Ruler?

_This is how these liars repay my generosity._ Thunder crashed through his brain as lightning shot down his nerves. Each strand of fur was upright, making him loom so large he could take on a Twoleg. _Liars and traitors everywhere!_

“Just, please, Papa, stop hurting me and I’ll—”

Papa? The wretch dared? “Die, traitor!” He lunged, claws out.

But something slammed into his left hind leg and his front paws fell short. He spun around, clawing frantically at what turned out to be Shorthair, teeth bared and fur raised. He wasn’t surprised. The world was sour, ugly and overflowing with betrayal.

She ducked and twisted away from his paws, her flabby stomach swinging with each movement. How much of his prey had she stolen to get so fat? Her teats jutted out like giant pink pebbles. She’d probably squirt milk everywhere. Disgusting.

The Ruler snarled, glaring between her and the Enforcer. Shorthair darted around him. He struck out, but she didn’t come near enough for him to attack. She moved between the Ruler and his son…rather, the kit he’d raised and loved as his son. Hadn’t Mom told him and the old Enforcer about cuckoo birds, who left their eggs for sparrows and starlings to raise? The Enforcer’s betrayal must have been seasons in the making.

“Run!” she snapped at the new Enforcer.

“I’ll try.” He started to, but he must have slipped in the wet grass because he fell after only one step. Shorthair stared at him, puzzled.

The Ruler attacked her. He raked his claws along her cheek then tried to follow up with a bite. She slipped aside, and suddenly her fangs were cutting into his scalp and his right ear. She dropped back before his claws could reach her again. Raindrops stung as they hit the open wound along his scalp. She’d only bruised his ear.

If she’d had his training, she might have been a good fighter.

“I heard you killed a bear, Ruler,” she said. Her thin sides heaved as she panted. “We both know you didn’t, you pathetic liar.”

The words stole his breath. He remembered the thick sinews of the bear’s heart in his mouth. He’d dreamed of it every night for moons.

He didn’t know what the punishment was for telling lies about the Ruler, but he’d find out.

Yowling, he leapt. She jerked to the side and her claws cut into his shoulder, but he barely felt it. (He should chew each toe off the paw that had struck him. She’d still be useful to him with one forepaw.)

Though his claws and fangs were everywhere, he could never quite catch her. (Pull out her whiskers and make her eat them.) Through the rain, he saw the aspen trees and the Stonetrail beyond. She’d led him out of the medicine den, which was surrounded on three sides by heather, stone ridges and the pool, to a more open area. But so much movement was draining her. She was breathing so hard.... (Gnaw her open from pisshole to asshole. He still had Longhair to give him kits.)

Something caught her gaze to his left. He risked a glance and saw It bolting along the Stonetrail. Another punishment to mete out.

“Everything you’ve built is nothing.” She was breathing so hard, she could barely speak. (Her giant ears—chew them off.) Blood stained the white fur of her left cheek and paw pink. “You are nothing. You rule nothing.” (Rip out her lying tongue.)

Screaming, the Ruler charged. This time, she was too weak to dodge. He saw her throat, bright white against the grey rain. He aimed for it and bit hard. The fool didn’t struggle. Her teeth sank into the back of his neck. He didn’t even feel it.

He kept his jaws clenched tight. Her blood flooded his mouth. He knew her punishment now: death. Her paws battered him, she wrenched her jaws from side to side, and his neck began to throb fiercely, but he didn’t move. This was his duty. Without a true enforcer it was a ruler’s job to enforce the law.

He pulled her down to the ground faster than he’d meant to. All the strength seemed to have left his legs. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was ending her.

Finally, her blows faltered. He relaxed his jaws enough to see what he’d done: she lay prone, blood squirting from her throat.

He smiled. He’d won. He would’ve laughed, but he was breathing too heavily from the fight. Once she died, he’d feed her to the carrion birds. There were some here now, dark shapes at the edges of his vision. Must be ravens, a whole flock of them come down from the black sky.  

The light drained from her eyes as his eyelids sank closed. He’d rest for a moment before dealing with the rest of these traitors.


	28. Respects

  


Mama wouldn’t stop yowling. She’d stop now and then to groom Shorthair or beg her to get up, but when Shorthair continued to lie still, she’d start wailing again.

At least she was doing something. That couldn’t stop staring at the bodies of his mother and father. He felt like they’d just fought to the death seasons ago, even though he’d just watched it happen. His mind couldn’t accept it. 

The missing tip of his ear burned. It was hard to think around the pain. Once or twice, he tried to get Mama’s attention, but she stared right through him.

Someone should check on the kits. He made himself stagger toward the nursery burrow. The kits were sleeping safely. Shaking some of the rain from his fur, he began grooming to dry himself off. Once he had, he’d keep them warm. Mama said kits that young needed warmth as much as food.

Now and then, a thought managed to pierce the haze: _There’s no more Ruler, no more law. There’s just me and Mama now. Will It come back?_

Finally, one thought stopped him cold: _are the kits breathing?_

He nuzzled first one kit then the other. They didn’t react. His stomach blazed with shame, hot as if he were lying on a Stonetrail at sun-high. His claws unsheathed.

_This is my fault._ The past three days, It had taken almost every scrap of food Papa had brought him as payment for not revealing that That was sick. But the Ruler had found out anyway. _I should have fought for the kits. A true warrior would have._

“I’m—I’m sorry—” he stammered. Could they hear him in StarClan or were they too young to hear and see in the afterlife? _If StarClan even exists._

He bolted as well as he could from the burrow, slamming into the wall twice and tripping once. He screamed in frustration as he staggered to his paws

“You could’ve told me!” he snarled at Mama, who was lying down next to Shorthair’s body. “The kits are dead! You should’ve fucking said something before I checked on them!”

“Yes, I’m—they died,” she stammered. “Both of them, even though I tried.... I forgot to tell you. Sorry.”

That growled at her then stopped, guilt wracking him. His sickness had killed his brother and sister. She’d done nothing wrong. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to get angry at you.”

“I know, my heart.” She inhaled shakily. “Rabbitkit, how did Featherfall...?”

It took him a few moments to realize she meant Shorthair. He tried to put the unbelievable flashes of images into words. “He wanted me to get up and hunt, but I couldn’t, so he attacked me. I called out for you, but Shorthair came. He was going to kill me, I’m sure he was. I could smell his anger even through the rain.

“She protected me. All this time, I thought she hated me.... She told me to run. I tried, but I didn’t get far. If my fucking legs worked right, I would’ve helped.” He hissed. Lashing his tail a few times helped him calm down enough to grumble, “But I was useless, as usual.

“It ran, too, toward Longpawhome.” He bared his teeth at the memory of his old playmate. “He’s not sick. He can fight. He killed that kittypet like it was nothing. But instead, he ran. Coward!”

_But I_ can _move_ , _just not quickly. If It’s a coward because he ran, then aren’t I one, too?_ He growled uneasily.

“And what then?” Mistwalk asked.

That shook himself out of his thoughts. “Shorthair and Papa fought. She kept goading him, making him more reckless. But she was too weak to keep dodging for long. She faltered once, and he got her. Or...maybe she just made it look like she faltered. I couldn’t tell. She might’ve thought she could dodge his jaws at the last heartbeat but still be close enough to attack. But...she might’ve also known he was too pissed off to let her go. In the end, she got him.”

Mama was silent for a while, staring blankly at Shorthair’s body. Then her gaze locked on him, ears pulled back and shivering. “You said you called for me? But I didn’t—I don’t remember that. Everything’s a blur.” She sank to her haunches with a moan. “Oh, my dear one, I can’t begin—StarClan, I’m so sorry.”

_Shorthair heard me_ , he wanted to snarl. _You heard but you just didn’t care! You said you’d always protect me! Liar!_ But that inner voice was his father’s voice. Instead, he made himself nuzzle her. “I forgive you, Mama.”

“Your ear...” she murmured. “You need cobwebs. Staunch the flow. The barn—oh, they’ll have food, too. We should—” She stepped toward him only to stop and stare down at Shorthair. “Oh, my love, my love....”

He leaned against her while she muttered and moaned, trying to recall if he’d seen any cobwebs nearby. Soon, he was shivering in the rain. Mama leaned against him unexpectedly, which sent him sprawling. He awkwardly lurched to his paws.

“Sorry,” she muttered, her voice far away.

At least she was responding to him. “It’ll take me some time to get to the barn.”

“The barn?”

“For my ear.”

She blinked a few times. Her wet fur made her eyes look huge. She was so small beneath all that fur, so skinny even with her pregnancy. “You ear. Yes. Of course. But first, I’ll put Featherfall in the...in the, um....” Giving up on finding the word, she flicked her ears to the nursery burrow. “We’ll sit vigil, tomorrow, for her and Rain—no, they never had names. For her and the kits.”

“Should we do something for...?” He glanced at his father.

She stared at That as if he’d suggested eating him. “I can’t think of anything—but, I suppose, he was your father.... Um, you can say some words, if you’d like.”

As Mama dragged Shorthair to the burrow, That dragged his father beneath a spruce tree. He kept expecting the Ruler to get up and snarl something at him; he had to glance at the spine and skull showing through the back of his father’s neck to remind himself he was dead.

He scraped some dried spruce needles over him to hide him from the crows, wondering why he was doing even that much. “Fuck you,” he hissed. He’d hated his father. So why did the world feel so empty without him?

When Mama left the burrow, he joined her, and together they made their way to the barn.

“You’re wrong,” she said suddenly.

Most of his attention was on his paws. If he focused, he could put them somewhat close to where he wanted them. “Huh?”

“You said Featherfall hated you. She didn’t, my little love. No mother could hate her kit.”

That didn’t believe her, but contradicting her seemed cruel. The only cat who’d known what Featherfall truly felt for him was dead. So he said “Of course, Mama,” and tried not to slip into the ditch at the side of the Stonetrail.


	29. Waylaid

 

  


A dog and a scarred cat met them as they walked to the barn. They looked as similar as two different species could look: they were close to the same size; they had broad faces, short muzzles, upright ears and short, stubby tails; the dog was black and white and the cat was dark grey and white; and they wore black collars with vicious silver spikes.

The cat and dog’s gazes went to Rabbitkit’s awkward gait. Mistwalk watched them intently. Seasons ago, Featherfall had said the cats at the barn seemed friendly, but were these even the cats she’d spoken to? Rabbitkit was all she had left. If they hurt him....

The dog dipped their head, saying “G’day, travellers.”

Shock tingled from Mistwalk’s toes to her ears, followed by happiness. A talking dog meant this evening was a dream. She’d wake up, and Featherfall and the kits would be sleeping next to her. She closed her eyes, savouring the thought.

But the rain soaking her to her skin felt real. In a dream, they would have been at the barn effortlessly, but her paws ached from the long walk. The kit squirmed inside her; in her dreams, she was never pregnant. Mistwalk opened her eyes.

The grey and white cat spoke. “If you’re hoping for Upright food, they left for good a moon ago. Put everything in boxes, put those boxes in a big road-beast, and went away.”

“We just need somewhere dry for the evening,” Rabbitkit replied.

The cat leaned in for a quick introductory sniff. Out of habit, she sniffed back. With the rain, all she caught was that he was healthy tom who had slept in the barn enough to smell of hay. The dog approached, so she sniffed them as well. They also smelled of hay. Mistwalk assumed they were healthy; Twolegs sometimes hunted ducks in ForestClan’s marshes and brought large dogs with them, but no dog had ever made it to MeadowClan’s territory.

The tom gestured to the side of the barn. “You can sleep under the eaves—”

“She’s kit-heavy, Terrier,” the dog said.

“What?” The tom eyed Mistwalk, ears flicking back in annoyance. “I’ll talk to the boss.”

The dog looked between her and Rabbitkit. “He’s protective, but a good cat.”

Would birds start speaking next? Mice? Mistwalk nodded. The dog looked away from her. Mistwalk realized her ears were pulled back and flattened; the dog was trying to set her at ease.

There was a scream locked inside her body. She could feel it clawing against her bones and nerves. But she couldn’t let it out. She’d tried, earlier, but after all her wailing it was still deep inside her like a poison.

The tom returned with a vole, followed by a large brown longhair with orange eyes and tufted ears.

“Please, come in,” said the brown she-cat. She introduced herself, the tom and the dog, but Mistwalk forgot their names as soon as they said them.

Inside the barn, a swarm of other cats introduced themselves. Mistwalk said something in reply. The grey-and-white tom thrust the vole at Mistwalk, who gestured for him to give it to Rabbitkit.

“You need it more than I do, Mama,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your kit probably is.”

Chastened, the ate the vole, though she left Rabbitkit a hindleg. She barely tasted her meal. While Rabbitkit spoke to the brown longhair, Mistwalk searched for cobwebs.

She’d found one and pulled it from the wall when she turned to see a beige tom with faint stripes watching her. His ears were bizarrely round for such a lanky, long-faced cat.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

She shook her head. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“I tried to rescue you. Feel free to berate me for the attempt, by the way,” he added with good humour. “Everyone else has.” He motioned with his tail to the brown longhair and a black longhair with white paws, muzzle, chest and tail tip. Mistwalk had no idea what he was talking about. “I just wanted to say I’m happy to see you and your son rescued yourselves.”

“I didn’t,” she said. The cobweb dropped from her mouth, falling to the straw. “Featherfall is dead.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Sorry? If he knew what Featherfall’s death meant, it would ruin him. “She was the last warrior of MeadowClan and I was her medicine cat. A Clan means an unbroken bond—or it should—but Featherfall fought the Ruler alone and died alone, and the kits died, too!”

The beige tabby backed up. She’d stepped closer to him without realizing it. “She died a hero—”

“She shouldn’t have had to! It should have been me!” Her claws were out. Glancing down, she saw that they’d ripped right through the cobweb. The sight of the tattered web made her crash to her haunches, moaning. What kind of medicine cat forgot about her patient?

The kind that was never meant to be a medicine cat. Seedshine had been right all along. He should have asked ForestClan or MountainClan for an apprentice, like he wanted.

Rabbitkit’s ear was going to be infected. There were no healing plants so early in the season. She’d lose him, too. She could barely breathe. _Not him, not my son, not my son...._

Rabbitkit ran to her side, stumbling and almost crashing into her. He nuzzled his head against her chin. To her surprise, he already had some cobwebs laid over his wounded ear. How long had it taken her to find the one at her paws? Her mind must have drifted while she searched. She couldn’t remember.

All she could remember was that Featherfall was dead, and she could have saved the she-cat she loved.

“I didn’t hear her!” She stared into the eyes of the stranger cats, so they would understand the depths of her crime. “I was in the burrow. I thought I was being a medicine cat, looking after kits, but all I was doing was watching them die! I heard the snarling and I—I didn’t—”

“Mama, there were always fights. You couldn’t have known—”

Hissing, she bared her teeth. “I could if I’d looked outside for a heartbeat! One heartbeat, then I would’ve seen—seen the cat I loved—the last warrior of MeadowClan—oh, StarClan, no MeadowClan can’t end with me, it can’t, it can’t, not like this!”

She backed away from Rabbitkit, mewling in terror. What must StarClan think of her? They wouldn’t let her in, not with all the deaths she’d caused. They’d send her to the Dark Forest. “Rabbitkit, you have to leave me. MeadowClan died because of me. I killed Whisperstar. I killed Featherfall. I’ll hurt you, too.”

His large ears went back as he watched her. “Mama,” he whimpered, “please, stop saying stuff like that....”

At the sight of his pain, she stepped toward him. She had to force herself to keep her distance.

Slowly, the brown longhair approached Mistwalk. “I’m not MeadowClan—”

“Stay away from me!”

“—but you’re with us now—”

“I’m poison! Disease! Sickness!”

“—and we don’t turn good cats away.”

Beyond words, Mistwalk shrieked, tail lashing. The brown longhair stopped approaching. All the barn cats were watching her, just like the cats of the Dark Forest would watch her when she arrived among them.

The brown longhair walked toward her again, speaking slowly but clearly. “I’m so sorry. The cursed greys brought so much evil with them. Mouse Face is right—your friend was a hero.”

Why was the she-cat coming so close? Hadn’t she heard Mistwalk at all? If no one would listen to reason, Mistwalk would take charge. She bolted from the barn, ignoring a startled shout from behind her. The rain slammed into her, making her shiver.

She stared up at the clouds. The rain got in her eyes, but she kept staring, trying to see the stars. Would it be like this in the Dark Forest, far away from the stars’ gentle, forgiving light?

“I did everything I could! I tried so hard! Not her, just please, please not her! Take me! Bring them back! Just bring them back!”

She clawed at mud, she lashed her tail and hissed and spat and snarled. The rain kept falling. Why was she still here? She couldn’t cope with this. There was nothing beyond this moment.

Her kit squirmed inside her, shocking her into silence and stillness. She’d forgotten about her unborn kit again. _Poor little one._ All her shrieking, and there was still that scream trapped inside of her. _Can my kit feel it? Is my sadness killing them, too?_

Glancing behind her, she saw Rabbitkit watching from the barn entrance, trembling. Beside him stood the brown she-cat, who beckoned Mistwalk inside with a wave of her thickly furred tail.

Suddenly aware of how cold she was, Mistwalk stumbled inside. Rabbitkit licked and nuzzled her cheeks. He hadn’t been this affectionate since his eyes were blue. Yesterday, she would’ve been overjoyed. Now, she could barely muster the energy to nuzzle him back.

“We’ve a spot in the corner for you two,” the brown longhair said. She brushed her tail along Mistwalk’s. A dim spark of gratitude lit in her chest.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Helpless as a day-old kit, she let herself be led.


	30. Vigil

Mistwalk glanced at Rabbitkit, who slept curled up in the straw beside her. She sniffed the cobwebs over his ear. The wound didn’t smell infected, thank StarClan.

“It almost went right up your nose that time,” the brown longhair said kindly. Her fur was the same shade of brown as the barn walls; it looked as if she’d been made from them. “I’ve my eye on him. Try to sleep, if you can.”

“I can’t.” Not with straw poking her, and Rabbitkit to worry about, and Featherfall gone.

“Is it your custom to bury your dead?”

“Isn’t it everyone’s?”

“I’ve heard of cats that set the bodies of their dead adrift in the river. Some cats in the Uprightlands make a ceremony of setting out their dead for the Uprights to dispose of. Some say their goodbyes then leave their dead exposed for weather and crows.”

Remembering the greys, Mistwalk flinched. “How barbaric.” Then she remembered that MountainClan exposed their dead instead of using what little soil they had to bury them. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Would you like help burying your friend?”

“No.” She thought for a moment. “But I’ll need it, probably.”

“Since you can’t sleep, I’m here to listen, if you’ve some words. Silence suits me fine, too.” She sighed, pointing at the rain pouring from a hole in the barn roof near the entrance. “Not that we get as much silence as we used to. The Uprights stopped repairing this place these past three seasons. They must have been preparing to abandon it for a while. I wish you could’ve seen the barn in its glory days.”

“I prefer being in the open. Ah, no offense.”

“None taken. You’re not the first cat to think so.” Her gaze swept the barn. She sounded sad, but Mistwalk could only tell she was by the slight twitch in her ears.

They were silent for a while. The other barn cats milled around. What Mistwalk had thought was a swarm of cats when she first arrived were only five cats and the dog. The brown longhair groomed herself, starting with the straw gathered in her belly fur. Mistwalk wondered why. Her fur was so long, she’d just get straw in it once she walked through the barn again.

After a while, Mistwalk said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Sweeps Up.” She pointed out the other cats with her large muzzle and named them. Mouse Face, the beige tabby, was standing guard outside; Two Tone, the black-and-white tom with one green and one yellow eye, was grooming himself and occasionally glancing over at Sweeps Up and Mistwalk; Gina, the orange tabby elder, was batting listlessly at a piece of straw; and Terrier, the collared grey-and-white tom, was sleeping beside Manx, the dog.

“I’m Mistwalk and this is Rabbitkit.” Her tail tightened around him as she added, “He’s a good kit.” He didn’t resemble his father much, but Sweeps Up could probably guess who’d sired him.

“He seems devoted to you.” Sweeps Up gave him an approving nod. Mistwalk relaxed her tail.

“I worried, now and then, that he was bad. He’d bite my tail too hard, sometimes, or use his claws. But kits do that. He learned not to. His—his father....” _No. From now on, I won’t ever speak of him again._ “Rabbitkit has been through so much. He’s very strong—stronger than his Mama, that’s for sure.

“He’s not my kitted son. He’s Featherfall’s. I see so much of her in him. She...she came here once, in greenleaf. Do you remember her?”

“Yes. A small, slim thing, with wiry muscles that showed she hunted full-time. She didn’t say much.”

Mistwalk _mrrow_ ed. When Rabbitkit stirred in his sleep, she realized how loud she’d been. “She never did.

“We were the only ones of our litters to survive kithood, so in the nursery, we were inseparable. But we were born two moons apart, so she became an apprentice before me. Every day, I begged her to tell me about life outside camp. She tried, but it was like chewing on a rock! She’d say something like, ‘We practiced our scenting, Mistkit.’ Well, where did you go? What did you scent? Were the scents fresh or old? You can imagine how much of a nuisance I was.

“And yet, every day for two moons, this cat who hated talking answered endless questions from her old nursery-playmate. She was tired from the hunt, usually. Sometimes she was covered in mud up to her belly. But every time I’d burst out of the nursery squealing ‘What happened? What happened?’, she was there. That’s how kind she was.”  

“She looked out for you from the beginning.”

“Until she died.” Mistwalk closed her eyes. The scream echoing deep in her bones. “I was so in love with her. Love would fill me up from ear-tip to tail-tip, sometimes. She was so beautiful, and kind, and humble.... Since I was a medicine cat apprentice, I admired her from afar.” When Sweeps Up looked confused, Mistwalk said, “I wasn’t allowed to take a mate until I had a trained apprentice of my own. Someone would have taken her as a mate by the time I was free to. Oh...wait, you don’t even know what a medicine cat is. Sorry! My mind is everywhere at once.”

“No apologies needed, dear. I can follow along. Mouse Face was also quite taken with Featherfall. He groomed himself from muzzle to tail every morning for moons in case she stopped by again.”

“She had that effect on cats.” _Even the Ruler. He always raped her first, more often, longer._ Her skin crawled. She hated what he’d put into her head. Her brain was filled with his filth.

“Here, may I?” Sweeps Up slowly began to lie down beside her giving Mistwalk time to interrupt. Mistwalk realized her fur had rose and she was shaking. Thoughts of the Ruler ignored her mind and went straight to her body.

“You may.”

So Sweeps Up lay beside her, curling her tail over Mistwalk’s. The solid presence of such a large cat beside her felt odd. She wanted Featherfall beside her, sleek and shorthaired. But, eventually, her fur flattened and her shaking stopped.

“If I’d been fighting beside Featherfall, I would have watched him die.” A twinge of guilt made her glance at Rabbitkit. He was still sleeping. “I’d have liked that. I shouldn’t, but....”

“I know how you feel,” Sweeps Up murmured, gaze falling to her paws. She’d lost someone, too.

Mistwalk was about to ask whom when Mouse Face shouted an alarmed “Sweeps Up!”

Everyone moved. Rabbitkit startled awake, and Mistwalk moved to stand over him. Terrier and Manx got to their paws, Terrier baring his fangs and making for the door. Gina trotted to the back of the barn, ears down; Two Tone stood and looked to Sweeps Up, who rose.

“If he thought there was danger, he would’ve called for Terrier,” Sweeps Up reminded everyone. Though her tone was reassuring, Mistwalk was close enough to see her tail swish back and forth uneasily.

Sweeps Up calmly walked to the barn entrance. The barn cats watched her. Gina’s ears rose and Two Tone calmed enough to sit. Only Terrier was unaffected; he paced, fangs bared.

As Sweeps Up left the barn and dealt with whatever was happening outside, Rabbitkit whispered, “Maybe It is looking for us. No one would think that mouse-heart was a threat.” He hissed. “Oh, I hope he’s out there. I’ve got some things to say to that asshole....”

She could hear his father so clearly she started shivering again. “Hush!”

“Sorry, Mama,” he said quickly. But his tail lashed hard enough to hit her hindlegs.

Heartbeats passed and no one returned to the barn. “It lived his whole life with the Ruler’s cruelty,” Mistwalk reminded her son. “He’s as much a victim as we were.”

“No, he’s not!” Rabbitkit said with a growl. “If you knew—” He stopped himself.

“If I knew what?” she asked, then regretted it. She didn’t have the energy right now to deal with what was probably some kithood scuffle that Rabbitkit’s pride had blown out of proportion.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

 _I’ll bring it up later_ , Mistwalk decided. 

Featherfall walked into the barn dripping rain.

The world shifted beneath Mistwalk’s paws. She couldn’t think. She just stared as Featherfall shook herself, sending water flying and began flicking water from each paw individually. Featherfall met her gaze then Rabbitkit’s, nodding to both of them awkwardly, as if she’d been caught doing something inappropriate.

“Mama, do you see this?” Rabbitkit said breathlessly.

Stepping closer, Mistwalk said, “Featherfall?”

“It’s me,” she replied, ears flicking uneasily. An ugly bite scar interrupted the white fur of her throat. Earlier that evening, that wound had been spilling her life’s blood.

Last greenleaf, she and Featherfall had killed Whisperstar four times before she had finally died. Each time, she’d risen, maddened with the foaming sickness, the worst of her wounds scarred as if they’d been healed for seasons.

Scarred like Featherfall’s throat.

“Oh,” Mistwalk murmured. She should be feeling joy, but she just felt numb. _StarClan promised me with the lightning-struck branch that burned and was doused by the rain. I should have kept my faith. Why is it so easy for me to lose it?_

“You died, right?” Rabbitkit asked.

“Death isn’t always the end for those chosen by StarClan to lead their Clan,” Mistwalk said. For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, her tail rose. “Oh, Featherfall, my love, this couldn’t have happened to a better cat!”

Featherfall sighed heavily. Her posture was hunched, and she drooped with weariness. “I’m not a leader, Mistwalk. I didn’t come back because of—” she glanced at the barn cats “—why you think I did.”

Mistwalk trotted toward her. “You’re too humble for your own good! Oh, Featherfall—” she interrupted herself with a laugh, “—what am I saying?”

She crouched before Featherfall, bowing her head as she had seasons ago for Whisperstar.

“Not Featherfall. Not anymore. You stopped the Ruler’s evil just as the rain smothered the burning branch, and StarClan blessed you for your sacrifice. Now, you’re Featherstar.”

Mistwalk found that she was trembling, still in shock. She ignored that and yowled as she would for any leader, “Featherstar! Featherstar! Featherstar!”

Her friend sighed and looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next week for Petrichor, the next fanfic in the Saga of RainClan series!


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